


The Second Best Thing I’ve Ever Done

by GhostGarrison



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, BAMF Anders, Blow Jobs, Cats, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Illustrated, M/M, Masturbation, Past Rape/Non-con, Sharing a Bed, Skinny Dipping, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 10:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12815871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: Karl has lived all his life as an apostate, the only one of his relatives, working on his family’s farm miles from the nearest village. It’s worked well for him so far, and he feels he could peacefully live out the rest of his life like this, even if it means never using his magic. But that peaceful life is put into danger when he finds an intruder in the barn one night—a blond boy about his age… wearingCircle robes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based on _“Falling in love with you is the second best thing I've ever done. Finding you is the first,”_ which is just too long to be a title!!! Anywho, this is the Apostate Karl AU I’ve been talking about on Tumblr for awhile. Please skip to the end notes if you are concerned about the tags regarding implied abuse/noncon and their ages. Otherwise, enjoy! Happy Kandersgiving!

_Thwack!_

The sound of the hand axe slicing straight through a log echoes throughout the surrounding trees. Karl adds another quartered piece to the growing stack of firewood at his feet before hefting the tool over his head for another strike.

Arms full of wood ready to burn, Karl begins the familiar trek back to his home. It’s a humble place, built atop a hill to avoid the worst of Ferelden’s flood season, now with four rooms as they just completed constructing a separate room for his little sister. He was more than happy to get his own room, but saving enough money and building it was more difficult than he anticipated. Having built their home by hand, his father did most of the work but Karl followed the man’s instructions to the letter and they finished it in time before the peak of summer.

When he comes through the door, he can smell the starchy-sweet scent of the stew his mother is cooking. She smiles at him as he sets the bundle of firewood beside the stove, holding out a small iron ladle for him. It tastes of the season’s first harvest of potatoes, along with the rabbit meat freshly caught and butchered that morning.

“Delicious, as always,” he comments, pressing a kiss to the greying hair at her temple before brushing past her. At the table, his little sister Agatha is mending one of their father’s shirts. “Looks great, Aggie.”

“Thank you!” She smiles at him, holding it up for him to inspect. The stitches are crooked and don’t close the tear entirely, but she’s still learning. “But Papa needs to be more careful, because I don’t like sewing.”

“You don’t have to like it,” their mother replies from across the room, turning to place a hand on her hip. “But everyone has to learn, and you’ll need it one day. What if you tore your own clothes?”

“Then I’ll just ask Karl to fix it!” she exclaims, flashing him a toothy smile. “He’s much better at sewing than me.”

“Only because he practiced every day, isn’t that right?” his mother says, turning to look at him expectantly. He nods—he did practice a lot, but it also took him a long time to get to a level his mother found acceptable. “Anywho, supper is about ready. Go fetch your father, will you? He’s out in the barn, I think.”

When he enters the barn, he doesn’t see his father immediately. It’s mostly full of hay bales and sheaves of this season’s wheat. The building is much larger than their house, standing tall on the family’s property. Its worn wooden walls are splintering from the weather and lack of expensive regular upkeep, but it suits their needs well enough.

His father is in the last stall, hunched over to check their only horse’s front leg. Rosie had injured herself a week prior, stumbling over a buried rock while plowing a section of the fields for a late planting. She pays his father no mind as he bandages it with a splint and spare muslin fabric, tying it off in a tight knot.

“Supper is ready,” Karl tells him, though he’s certain his father already knew that. He leans his shoulder against the stall’s sturdy column, studying the horse who has taken to eating more hay off the floor. “How is she?”

“She may recover,” his father replies, standing and brushing the dirt from the knees of his trousers before turning to him. “But it’ll be an interesting autumn in the meantime.”

Karl holds back a groan. They can’t afford a second horse, and without Rosie’s continued service, the harvest will be more work than ever. Somehow his father doesn’t seem as perturbed about the prospect of harvesting their fields by hand, but Karl certainly dreads it.

“Let’s go inside,” his father says, giving Rosie an appreciative pat on her forehead. “It looks like it’s about to rain.”

Supper comes and goes as usual, eating their hot stew next to the dying fire and relaxing as a family before retiring after a long day of work. Karl’s father tells him to check on Rosie before going to bed, with specific instructions to give her a handful of oats and some extra hay to keep her strength up.

When he’s certain that everyone has gone to bed, Karl lights the glass lantern with a small burst of magic from his fingertips. Though he’s supposed to keep his magic to an absolute minimum—or none, as preferred by his parents—Karl still finds delight in even the smallest chances to use his magic. He can only manage a few tiny fireballs, but he uses them whenever he can.

Donning his cloak, he makes his way to the barn. Just as his father predicted, there’s a steady downpour coming down from the dark, cloudy sky. He keeps his eyes and ears open for the sound of wolves that sometimes roam the area, treading carefully through the night.

Beneath her perpetual fatigue from her old age of twenty-two, Rosie looks happy to see him. He checks her bandage first, tying it a little tighter before giving her an extra helping of grain. He runs his fingers through her wispy brown mane while she happily nibbles from the metal bucket hanging from a hook.

“Atta girl,” he says affectionately, patting her broad cheek.

_Thud!_

Heart jumping in his chest, Karl immediately spins on his heel toward the source of the sound. It came from the far corner of the barn, where a majority of their hay bales lay stacked. He’s instantly on the defensive, snatching the pitchfork from where it rests against the wall and wields like a weapon in one hand while holding the lantern up in the other.

“Who’s there?” he shouts, trying to sound tough and intimidating. “We only have one horse and she’s old! And injured! You wouldn’t want to steal her anyway!”

So much for intimidating.

He waits, but is only met with silence and the sound of the drizzling rain. Dropping the pitchfork with a loud _clang!,_ Karl lights his hand up with flickering fire. The unwieldy flames lick his palm, friendly to him and him alone. He knows he shouldn’t—he could burn down down the barn, even if it’s pouring outside—or worse, the intruder could be a templar or someone who might tell one.

Weighing the risk, he extinguishes the fire and picks the pitchfork up again. 

“You can’t escape so come out, now!” he demands once again, prepared to take a step forward just as a shadowy figure emerges and comes closer, into the soft light of the lantern.

It’s a boy who looks to be about Karl’s own age. His wet blond hair is tied back in a ponytail, with loose strands hanging limply around his face and sticking to his skin. He looks forlorn and filthy, covered in a sheen of rain mixed with dirt and sweat. His eyes are a golden-brown that shimmer like sunlight through whiskey in the lantern’s wavering light. But, what is most striking about this intruder is what he’s wearing, and the realization makes Karl gasp.

_Circle robes._

It takes some coaxing, even another small display of his own unpracticed magic, to usher the mage up to the house. He quickly shuffles him through the door, kicking it closed and latching it behind them to keep both the rain and any curious passing travelers out.

The mage stands there in the entryway, and it’s now that Karl can see that his robes are drenched and he’s shaking all over. He pushes the stranger toward the fire, stoking it with a log and another small fireball.

“Stay here,” Karl tells him before crossing the room. He knocks on the door to his parents’ bedroom, cracking it open when there’s no immediate answer. “Father? Mother?”

He hears his father’s gruff voice from the dark room, tired but concerned. “What is it, son?”

“Come here, please,” he urges before returning his attention to the main room and its new occupant.

His father soon emerges from the bedroom, wearing his sleeping tunic and wiping the corner of his eye with the heel of his palm. His gaze quickly settles on the stranger, eyes widening as the gravity of the situation hits him. He expression turns apprehensive, looking between the Circle mage and the door.

Turning to Karl, his father whispers. “What have you done?”

“I found him in our barn,” Karl replies in an equally low tone, glancing over to the stranger.

His father shakes his head adamantly, his jaw setting. “This is dangerous.”

“He needs our help,” Karl pleads. “I couldn’t have just left him there.”

“You could, and you _should_ have,” Father says, folding his arms. “He would have been fine, possibly would have left as soon as morning came and the rain stopped.”

“But—”

“ _Karl,_ ” Father says, his voice hardening. “He’s from a Circle. They’ll start looking for him, if they’re not already.”

_‘They.’_ The Templars, the source of most of Karl’s nightmares ever since he came into his magic.

The mage in question stays silent throughout the exchange, hugging his knees to his chest while sitting as close to the fire as possible. Karl looks at him, seeing someone who desperately needs their help and not the imminent danger that his father sees.

“Please, Father—”

“Dear,” comes another voice, his mother speaking up from where she’s appeared in the doorway. “Think about it. What if it were Karl? Wouldn’t you want him safe?”

His father huffs in frustration. “I’m thinking about Karl’s safety right now… What if he’s dangerous?”

“Other than the possibility of him leading templars to our doorstep, you mean?” Karl says. His father is silent, pondering his son’s words. “He must have more magical training than me. He could have killed me when I was alone in the barn.”

“Don’t talk like that—” Mother says.

“Just look at him,” Karl says, and all eyes fall to the mage whose shaking has slowed considerably. “Does it look like it’s in his best interest to hurt any of us?”

Father purses his lips, finally sighing in defeat and sounding decades older than his age. “Alright, he can stay. I’m tired and it’s been a very long day. Let’s discuss this in the morning.”

Karl smiles, glancing over the man’s shoulder to see his mother smile gently back at him.

“But,” his father continues, turning to address the mage directly. He sounds grave, almost threatening, instilling an authority on the unknown boy. “I’ll need answers from you, do you understand?”

The mage nods, looking back at him with wide eyes alight from the fireplace’s roaring flames.

While his father promptly disappears back into the bedroom, his mother turns to Karl. “Get him some food. Poor dear must be starving.”

He agrees. Being on the run couldn’t be conducive to eating regular meals, or any at all. He picks some bread, potatoes, and cheese from the larder, handing it to the mage while his mother returns with the blanket from Karl’s bed. He’s bothered for a moment before he decides the poor, shaking mage needs it more than he does.

The stranger eats the offered food slowly but gratefully, tearing off pieces of bread with his fingers and popping them into his mouth. Karl sits beside him on the hearth, watching him in heightened interest before breaking the silence.

“You’re from the Circle, right?” he asks after a time. He can’t help but to be fascinated, he wants to hear about it even though he knows he shouldn’t push. If the mage really did escape, then he’s been through quite a lot.

The mage nods. 

“Kinloch? Or somewhere else?”

He nods again, and Karl takes that to mean that he escaped from Kinloch Hold, the tower in the middle of Lake Calenhad which was a good two days’ travel from the farm. How far this mage must have walked, on foot in the rain...

“How did you escape?” Karl asks, hoping to get a verbal answer with an open-ended question instead of something that could be answered with the shake of one’s head. For a moment he wonders if the mage will answer him at all, or stay completely silent as he has.

“I swam,” comes the answer. His voice is quiet but nice and Karl grins because he actually got an answer.

“That’s incredible.” Karl can’t help but catch the smallest hint of a smile on the mage’s lips, almost as if he was proud of what he’s done.

When the mage finishes off the food and the cup of water that Karl fetched for him in the meantime, he lays down right on the hearth. He pulls the tie from his hair, letting the dirty blond strands splay out on the coarsely woven rug. Yawning, he pulls Karl’s blanket tight around his body and his heavy eyes slide closed.

“Right,” Karl says awkwardly, standing up to give him some space. The mage must be exhausted after running for so long. “Goodnight, then.”

When he gets to his bedroom door, a burning question in Karl’s gut gets the better of him and he turns around. “I’m Karl, by the way. What’s your name?”

Slowly blinking his eyes open, the mage looks up at him tiredly. “Anders.”

“Anders…?”

“Just Anders.”


	2. Chapter 2

While Karl helps his mother clean up after the morning meal, his father interrogates Anders at the kitchen table. The mage is surprisingly more talkative—well, it shouldn’t be surprising since Anders needs to cooperate if he wants his father to agree to shelter him. Though he acts like he’s not listening, Karl strains to hear every word of their conversation.

He learns that Anders has been on the run for two and a half days before stumbling upon their barn, taking shelter from the storm and using the piles of loose hay as a bed. He has no intentions of stealing or hurting anyone, only to put as much distance between him and Kinloch as possible.

His father laughs at that. “Well, son, if you want to stay with us, this is as far as you’re going to get. Which is to say, not very. You could always go elsewhere, doubt they’d ever find you in Denerim, or even across the Waking Sea.”

While scrubbing the dredges of leftover porridge from the bowls, Karl also learns that Anders is indeed the same age as him, and for a brief moment he wonders if he would be wearing those very same robes had he been in the Circle. _‘Skirts’_ as he’s heard some villagers call them—hideously purple and lined with fur and quilted stitching. He would have hated them.

“What about your family?” his father asks, perching his chin on his hands while giving Anders a level stare. “Will you go looking for them?”

Something in Anders’ expression changes, turns more somber. When he answers, he sounds sad but certain. “No, I won’t.”

There’s a still silence and both Karl and his father know there’s something more there, because who wouldn’t want to return home? But neither of them say anything. That’s not a discussion for today, if ever. 

“Well,” Father says after listening to Anders recount every moment since escaping the tower, stroking his thick beard before standing up from his seat. “It’s a little crowded, and you’ll have to do your share of the work here, but until you prove yourself a danger to my family, you’re welcome to stay.”

Grinning victoriously like a man who just narrowly avoided execution—and in a way, he did—Anders leaps out of his seat and vigorously shakes his father’s hand, thanking him with boundless enthusiasm.

“Son,” Father says, and finally Karl can stop pretending not to listen to the conversation. “I’ll leave you in charge of what to do with him. Make sure he learns how to do things right and don’t go light on him, alright?”

Karl nods dutifully, waiting for his father to leave the house before turning to Anders. The mage is still wearing his robes, now dry but just as dirty as they were before. Though his bright smile outshines his filthy state of dress, Karl knows that Anders must be uncomfortable.

“You should probably bathe,” Karl says and Anders seems excited about the prospect of a proper bath. The mage probably hasn’t had one since he escaped, before spending days navigating the forests and hills and sleeping Maker-knows-where before winding up in their barn.

After retrieving a bucket of water from the well, Karl brings the washbasin to his room and finds his bar of lye soap from his chest of belongings. He finds his smallest pair of drawstring trousers and a clean shirt and hands them over. Even if his robes were clean, no one should see Anders wearing Circle robes. That would be asking for trouble, practically sending the Templars a personal invitation to come knocking.

While he disappears into the bedroom to bathe, Karl busies himself by clearing out some of the night’s ashes from the fireplace. The mage emerges some time later, clean and dressed and looking more content and comfortable than before. Karl’s clothes hang off his thin but tall frame, but Karl finds a small feeling of satisfaction seeing that the robes are gone.

Now that Anders’ face is clean and his hair is tucked back in a neat ponytail, Karl can see that he’s really quite handsome. His obviously Ander-like features are striking, with a strong chin and a strikingly sharp nose. A bit of color has returned to his skin, not as sickly pale and cold as before.

Noticing he’s been staring for an uncomfortable amount of time, a light heat rises to Karl’s cheeks and he quickly looks away.

“Ready?” Karl asks, still not looking the other boy in the eye.

Anders smiles, gesturing toward the door with a flourish of his arm. “Lead the way.”

Never having to give a tour of his home before, Karl meanders through the farm with Anders following two steps behind. He shows him the three fields—one of wheat, the other of beans, and the third resting empty—and the vegetable and herb garden just off the side of the house. Anders takes in all the information like a true student, listening to Karl explain what’s currently in season, when they harvest, a usual day’s schedule, and where important things are like the well and extra firewood.

“This is Rosie,” Karl says, introducing him to their horse as if she could answer.

“The one you thought I’d steal,” Anders says with a lazy smile. He reaches past Karl, letting his fingers trace along the broad arch of her neck. “Sorry for keeping you from your beauty sleep last night. It looks like you could have really used it.”

Karl laughs.

They spend the rest of the afternoon harvesting wheat by hand. Naturally, Anders is slower than Karl, having to constantly readjust his grip on his unwieldy curved knife that Karl produced from the shed.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Anders says when he sees Karl try to hide a smile. “I’ve never done this before!”

“I’m not, I promise,” Karl replies, but laughs again when Anders drops his knife again and loudly swears the most ridiculous phrase he’s ever heard: “Andraste’s knickerweasels!”

With two long rows of a plot completed, Karl is showing him how to tie the bundles with a length of twine when Anders wipes his forehead with his sleeve and says, “Do you really do this every day?”

“In the peak of each season, yes. Though things do calm down in the wintertime and there’s less to do except keep our animals warm and fed.”

“ _‘Animals?’_ ” Anders repeats, brows raising in interest. “Meaning you have more than Rosie?”

“Yes,” Karl replies, finishing off a knot. “Hmm... four goats, ten rams, three cows, eight chickens… Oh, I suppose we have two druffalo too.”

That captures Anders’ attention. “What? Where? Show me, please!”

“They’re somewhere out past the fields, grazing,” Karl says, standing and hauling a bundled sheaf of wheat over his shoulder. “Don’t do much with them, though.”

“ _Please,_ ” Anders begs earnestly, pulling on Karl’s elbow. “I’ve never seen one before.”

“They don’t have druffalo in the Anderfels?”

Anders frowns, staring up at Karl questioningly from where he kneels in the dirt. “I’m not actually from the Anderfels.”

“Then why are you named Anders?”

“It’s not my real name.”

Karl frowns, feeling slight betrayal as he realizes he’s been lied to already. “Then what is?”

“It’s not… it’s not important anymore,” Anders says quietly, looking away and taking in a deep but silent breath. He stands, brushing the dirt of his trousers before picking up a sheaf of wheat with both hands. “Now where are these big, lovely creatures? And can I ride one?”

And again, Karl laughs.

Despite living in a Circle of Magi for many years—“since I was twelve,” which initially surprised Karl that he was taken so late in life—Anders is a quick learner and follows Karl’s instructions closely. He decides to keep Anders at his side most of the time, so he’s there if Anders needs help and that things get done twice as fast.

Over time, they get to know each other quite well, getting along better than Karl could have ever hoped when Anders first joined the household. The blond is funny and charming, nothing like he was that first night in front of the fire. His smile is bright as the sunlight shimmering over his golden hair and always has something clever to say—thankfully always to the right ears and never the wrong ones.

Karl’s parents come to love him, though it takes his father longer to warm up to and trust Anders not to do anything stupid and put the family at risk. His mother, on the other hand, has instantly taken to him and has already begun sewing Anders his own set of clothes so he wouldn’t have to wear Karl’s anymore.

Not that Karl ever minded sharing. It’s his own shameful secret, but he’s developed quite the affections for Anders. He’ll definitely miss the sight of Anders wearing his clothes.

Just as they have since the second night, Karl and Anders crawl into the same bed at the end of each day. There has been some discussion about building a second bed, but both the lack of space and funds have kept them from doing so. Anders is tall and skinny, and while it’s a little crowded, Karl appreciates the extra heat as the temperatures at night grow colder in preparation for a strong Ferelden winter.

The first night Anders joined him in bed was when Karl discovered the lanky blond sprawls out and fills up every available space while sleeping. Too many times, Karl has woken up to find wiry arms thrown around him and long legs all over the place—sometimes in unfortunate places. While sometimes he gets an elbow to the ribs or a face full of goldspun hair, other times Karl wakes to find himself hard and pressed a little too close to the bed’s other occupant.

More often than not, they often find themselves talking each other to sleep, sharing everything from interests and preferences to very personal experiences from two very different lives.

“I’m technically an apprentice,” Anders says one night, laying shoulder to shoulder with him underneath the wool blanket, “since I haven’t undergone my Harrowing.”

“Harrowing?” Karl asks, not knowing much about the inner-workings of the the Circle having been an apostate his whole life. Since no other living family member is a mage, most of his knowledge comes from word of mouth from other villagers and the occasional serious discussions with his parents.

Anders shrugs, looking back up at the ceiling. “It’s some mysterious ritual they have every apprentice go through. Testing a mage’s resistance to a demon’s temptation, or the like. Some mages… some mages don’t come back from it. The templars kill them if they fail.”

The moment it comes out, Karl feels something cold and heavy in his stomach sink. He’s horrified about this new piece of information, put right out in the open like it had been nothing of importance. How could they force mages to deal with demons? Isn’t that the opposite of what the Circle is meant to do? How many lives have been lost because of such a cruel and irrational ritual?

Oblivious to the storm raging in Karl’s mind, Anders yawns, stretching like a cat before pulling his side of the blanket over his shoulder and turning toward the wall. “If they catch me again, I might go through it early. Or they’d just make me tranquil.”

Stunned, Karl doesn’t know how to respond to that. The way Anders is so casual about it—about being forced to confront a demon, to possibly have his life ended through no fault of his own—is absolutely horrifying. 

Tranquility, on the other hand… he shudders. He couldn’t imagine Anders living as a shell of himself.

“They won’t catch you,” Karl says after a time, just as Anders is beginning to doze. The mage turns to him, eyes gazing at him in hope. “I won’t let them.”


	3. Chapter 3

The days grow shorter as the autumn passes, and while the nights grow cooler, some of the summer’s blazing heat still lingers during the afternoons. Karl and Anders find themselves taking a break from harvesting under the cloudless sky, choosing to finish their barn duties before returning to such arduous work.

Karl sweeps the floors with a broom, gathering all the dirt, dust, stray pieces of hay and fallen leaves into a pile in the center of the floor, while Anders brushes Rosie’s auburn coat. Ever the host, Karl often gives Anders a choice between two chores—one more difficult or boring than the other—and finishes whatever the other doesn’t want without complaint. 

Just as the rest of his family, Rosie has taken to Anders, possibly even preferring him over Karl at any given time. He seems to have a way with animals, delighting in petting and caring for them and receiving their trust and affection in return. Karl feels like a fool, feeling a little jealousy about Anders being so friendly and affectionate to any cute thing with fur. He blames them on his childish crush, stomping those feelings down and stashing them away.

“Well well, look at _you!_ ” Anders exclaims in delight behind him and Karl turns just in time to see him fawning over one of the barn cats. Anders makes a few kissing noises, beckoning for the creature to come to him. She does, albeit slowly, letting Anders gently pet her along her arched back. “Aren’t you just absolutely precious?”

“That’s Poppy,” Karl says, leaning on the handle of the broom as he watches Anders devote all his attention toward the now purring cat. “Oskar and Whiskers must be somewhere nearby.”

“There’s more? Why didn’t you ever mention there were kitties?” Anders asks, pressing a hand flat to his chest and gasping in mock offense.

“Cats,” Karl corrects, giving him a one-shouldered shrug. “They’re mousers and they tend to take care of themselves, so it’s easy to forget about them.”

“What a shame,” Anders replies, turning back to the cat and cooing in a voice usually reserved to talking to a baby. Poppy turns in a circle, prompting Anders to pet her anywhere she pleases. “Who would ever forget about such a cute face like yours, Ser Poppy? Who’s a good kitty? _Who’s a good kitty?_ You are!”

“I take it you like cats.”

Anders pauses, fingers stopping mid-scritch beneath Poppy’s jaw. “The tower could have used some. I always argued that they would be help with eliminating the rodent problem, but no one ever listened. Just let the Maker damned rats walk all over the place!”

Smiling, Karl nudges him with the end of his broom. “Perhaps they knew that the cats wouldn’t do their job. They’d only spend all their time with you, wouldn’t they?”

“Hmph,” Anders says, giving him a theatrically indifferent shrug and a barely hidden grin. “If the cats didn’t want to catch mice and wanted to sit in my lap all day instead, I wouldn’t find anything wrong with that!”

“I suppose not,” Karl replies, shaking his head with a smile. “Let’s finish up so we can go track down Oskar and Whiskers, shall we?”

Not taking his attention away from the purring feline, Anders delightfully agrees.

From then on, Anders and the cats—Poppy, in particular—are nearly inseparable. He’s taken to feeding them despite Mother’s insistence that it will lead them to be less inclined to catch the barn mice. But much to Anders’ dismay, none of the cats will allow him to hold them, even though he tries his hardest to capture them.

They will, however, come to join him to bask in the warmth of the late autumn sun when most of the chores are done for the day. Anders lies on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, pointing out cloud shapes to the cats while Karl finishes his own duties.

“That one looks like a nug, if you squint,” Anders says, smiling up at the clouds. Poppy and Whiskers sit nearby, listening to him babble as the bask in what’s left of the afternoon sun. “Oh! And that one looks like First Enchanter Irving! Ah, you don’t know him, but take my word for it.”

Karl fetches the hand axe from the small cache of tools in the shed beside the house, bent on splitting a few more logs so they won’t run out in the next couple of days. As he has all summer, he pulls his shirt and vest over his shoulders, folding and setting them on the nearest stump before starting to split logs into useful pieces.

It doesn’t occur to Karl about what he’s done until he pauses for a rest. He wipes his brow with the back of his hand, eyes instinctively scanning the edge of the surrounding woods. Finally his eyes settle on Anders, who has pulled himself up to lean on his elbows, his own gaze settled hypnotically on Karl. He blinks, and Karl swears he sees the mage’s cheeks turn pink before he quickly looks away.

_Oh._

After that, Karl spends many afternoons chopping dozens of logs into firewood. The weather grows slightly colder, but he doesn’t let that deter him from shedding his shirt to see if Anders comes by for a look. He does, every time, and it only serves to encourage Karl to do it more.

One day, Anders comes to him with a message. Amber eyes quickly skim over Karl’s revealed skin before settling on his face. He clears his throat. “Your mother says that’s enough firewood for now. Unless you have a special need for it, that is.”

Karl frowns, half from shame and half from disappointment. Has he really been chopping that much? Apparently so, if his mother had something to say about it. He slams the axe down into the stump for safekeeping, watching Anders’ expression from the corner of his eye. The other mage’s gaze is fixed on him, all over him, and it makes a satisfied smirk come to Karl’s lips that he has to hide as a theatrically thoughtful smile.

“I can think of something special to do with these logs.”

Anders raises a brow.

That night, after the sun has set and they’ve eaten dinner with the family, Karl leads Anders to the small fire pit dug into the earth between the house and the barn. He stokes the fire without the use of magic, building the proper structure out of dry logs, leaves, and pine needles he collected throughout the day. It only takes a few strikes of the flintstone before the flame catches.

Anders looks at him skeptically, smiling as warm as the light dancing off his fine features. “So, what’s the ‘special use’ for the extra firewood, hm?”

Without another word, Karl reaches into the satchel he brought with them. When he pulls out the folded monstrosity, Anders’ eyes widen and he gasps. He quickly spares a glance around them before taking the produced robes into his hands.

“Karl…!”

“I thought you might want to do the honors,” Karl says, tilting his head to better see Anders’ expression. When the idea of burning Anders’ Circle robes first came to his mind, he wasn’t sure how the other mage would react.

But when Anders looks up at him and grins as wide as a young boy on Satinalia morning, Karl knew it was the right choice.

The ugly, itchy fabric takes awhile to catch flame but when it does, it goes up in a stream of black smoke. Anders remarks on how good it feels to watch something—even just a small piece—of what he’s hated for so long burn before his eyes. Together, they lean against a nearby tree, touching from shoulder to hip, while watching the rest of the robes get reduced to smoldering embers. 

They spend as long as they can like that, until the night’s temperature drops past the point of discomfort and they scamper back to the house. Lying side-by-side in bed, Anders turns to look at him, their faces closer than ever before. From this little of a distance, Karl can see little flecks of gold in Anders’ eyes and the most faint freckles dusting his sharp cheekbones.

Sweet Maker, he’s absolutely beautiful.

“Thank you,” Anders says, breathy and quiet enough that no slumbering family members might overhear. Words meant just for Karl. “That was perfect. Thank you so much.”

Karl smiles, heat rising to his cheeks from how unspeakably intimate the expression of gratitude sounds with Anders’ face so close to his, his lips so close to his.

“Perhaps, next time,” Karl begins, just as quietly, almost like making a promise, “we can just burn the Circle instead.”

Anders’ laugh echoes through Karl’s heart, and it’s a truly magnificent sound.


	4. Chapter 4

“Papa, papa!” Aggie shouts as she looks out the window from her favorite perch on the kitchen chair. “A shiny man is coming! No, two of them!”

Suddenly Father’s expression sours, turning to both Karl and Anders who are sorting the laundry fresh off the line. “Boys, into the cellar. _Now._ ”

Anders hesitates, looking confused and uneasy, but Karl jumps up immediately and grabs hold of Anders’ wrist. The other mage stumbles for a few steps but quickly catches on that this is a very serious situation that needs to be quickly dealt with.

They make for the back door, slipping out quietly and closing the distance to the cellar door in a few long strides. Karl wrenches one of the doors open, silently gesturing for Anders to go in first. Karl follows quickly, shutting themselves inside and sliding the heavy iron latch closed.

The room is cast in complete darkness, and it’s only because Karl has spent so much time in it that he knows where the steps are. He keeps a hand against the wall, fingers skimming along it as he follows it down. He bumps into Anders, standing just at the bottom of the stairs. Karl feels around in the dark for Anders’ arm, tense and folded across the other mage’s chest, and pulls him to sit beside him against the wall.

A few long minutes of silence pass, listening for the footsteps above their heads. It’s quiet, and Karl thinks that his father most likely didn’t allow any strangers into the house just yet.

“‘Shiny man’ means templar,” Karl whispers, feeling like he needs to explain even though it’s probably obvious. “Or someone in armor, at least.”

He feels Anders shift uncomfortably beside him. Anders lets out a shuddering breath, then sighs. “They’re looking for me. They must be.”

Suddenly Anders moves to stand but Karl reaches out blindly and pulls Anders back to his seat on the floor. “Anders, _no._ ”

“Our—your family could get hurt, especially if they know I’m here and they lie about it,” Anders says, sounding more panicked for Karl’s parents and sister than worried about his own safety. “I _can’t_ let that happen, not after what you all have done for me.”

He moves to stand again but Karl holds him back with a firm grip around his wrist. “Anders,” he says, “they love you. They _want_ to do this for you.”

Karl hears a sound, and he isn’t quite sure what it is until he hears it much more clearly a second time. Anders sniffles, holding back budding tears. “But _why?_ ”

The question, accompanied by the reaction, confuses him. He wishes desperately he could see Anders, that he could summon up a wisp or a flame though he knows he can’t. Not with possible templars so nearby.

“What do you mean?” Karl asks quietly, grasping onto Anders’ harm harder.

“My own parents,” Anders begins after a long pause, his voice hoarse and shaking. “My own _father_ gave me up to the templars.”

Karl’s jaw drops at the news, feeling his heart break a little, but Anders continues as if he couldn’t keep the words back.

“They didn’t care if I was their son, their own flesh and blood. They were just terrified of magic… of me,” Anders says softly, his voice wavering as if this were the first time he said this aloud. Karl listens carefully, taking in every word. “I didn’t mean to… I burned it, but I didn’t know… He called for them, they came and took me away and they weren’t even upset to see me go… But your parents, they’ve been so _good_ to me—”

Not knowing what else to do, Karl curls an arm around Anders’ shoulders, bringing him in close and shushes him gently. Sniffling, Anders leans in and lets his head drop on Karl’s shoulder. Before he can stop himself, Karl presses a kiss to the shivering mage’s forehead. He instantly freezes, wondering what Anders might say but he says nothing.

If anything, he swears Anders moves closer.

They stay stashed away in the cellar for about an hour or so, if Karl has any guess. Most likely, the “shiny man” didn’t spend more than twenty minutes there, but Karl always stayed in hiding for longer just in case anyone lingers in the surrounding area for any reason.

Though Karl has always kept his magic a secret and hardly ever uses it even when alone, his father never takes chances and has Karl go to the cellar when anyone suspicious comes around. Now that they have Anders, the danger of being caught has doubled, so hiding is an absolute necessity.

When his little sister comes to fetch them, Karl is surprised to see the sun has set when they emerge from the cellar. Though he took his arm off of Anders’ shoulders, the other mage still hovers very close to his side as they return to the house.

All seems to be well, and Karl’s mother hugs them both in turn. Her smile seems tired and worn when she offers them a warm dinner of soup and bread. Karl takes one of the offered bowls, but Anders shakes his head. It’s odd to see him this quiet, but Karl understands a little more about him now. Anders immediately excuses himself for the evening, disappearing into their shared room without another word. 

With his mother and sister reading quietly in the corner and his father most likely scouting the property, Karl finishes his dinner quickly in the relative silence. Though it’s one of his favorite soups, it tastes different after the day’s events. Worse. Almost soured by the mere previous presence of templars.

After bidding everyone else a good night, Karl slips through the bedroom door and shuts it behind him. With the sun fully beneath the horizon, the room is dark except for the lamp lit on the bedside table. Anders is already asleep, dressed in the sleep clothes made by his mother. He’s beneath the blanket, on his side facing the wall, and doesn’t stir when Karl enters.

Sighing, Karl dresses for bed and slides in behind Anders. He lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling while thinking about all that Anders had told him in the cellar. But those thoughts disappear as soon as Anders tosses in his sleep—nothing out of the usual, that restless sleeper—and turns over. Anders unconsciously moves closer, draping an arm across Karl and nuzzling his face against his shoulder.

Karl looks over at the sleeping mage, the smile on his lips growing with the affection he doesn’t allow himself to show openly during the daytime. He brushes some hair out of Anders’ forehead and tucks it behind his ear before leaning over and extinguishing the lamp.

It takes some time for Karl to fall asleep, but when he wakes the next morning, he instantly knows that he’s in yet another unfortunate situation.

He’s hard, _painfully_ hard, his cock straining at the front of his trousers.

But then he notices what’s even worse. Anders has sprawled atop him during the night, with his arms and legs all over and holding steadfast onto Karl. He’s used to some touching—they’re sharing a bed, for Andraste’s sake—but Anders is practically on top of him, legs tangled together and their cocks dangerously close.

“Dear Maker, please no,” Karl mutters, trying to wiggle out from beneath him. But it does more harm than good, as Anders only stirs and moves against him in a way that makes the idea of willing away his erection impossible. Karl huffs out a frustrated breath, clenching his eyes shut before trying again. It takes some time, but he finally extracts himself from beneath the other mage, leaving him to curl up alone beneath the blanket.

Usually he’s able to wait it out, but today Karl feels the need to sneak off to the barn loft to take care of himself. Thankfully it’s still very early in the morning and his family is still sleeping peacefully in their own respective rooms, so getting there without finding himself in an awkward situation is a breeze.

He climbs the ladder to the barn loft, falling into the nearest pile of hay before snaking a hand beneath the waistband of his trousers. Fingers wrapping around his cock, Karl only gets a few good pulls in before he has to lick his palm. The slick adds new pleasure to the act, his hand gliding over his cock in fluid practiced motions. Tension and heat builds beneath his stomach, toes curling as his whole body coils as he gets closer to the edge of orgasm.

Karl feels guilty about it, but Anders—the memory of his slender and lithe body rubbing against his, his handsome face and flirty smile, his pink lips that he licks in concentration—is always the center of his fantasies, always the name he gasps upon completion. Karl would blame his youth for it, but he’s fairly sure he’s past that age.

Tossing his head back against the hay, Karl jerks himself off while imagining Anders in all sorts of ways—on him, in him, underneath him—and it isn’t long until he’s coming over his fist. He bites his lip hard in an attempt to hold back a soft whine, the syllables of Anders’ name spilling clumsily from his lips.

_Thud!_

In the quiet of the early morning, the sound feels especially loud. Karl jolts up, only bothering to wipe his hand on the hay beside him before calling out. Panic floods his chest, knowing it could truly only be one of two people—Father, who has accidentally stumbled across him in a similar situation in the past, or Anders.

_Andraste’s flaming tits._ He hopes to the Maker that it isn’t Anders.

“Hello?” he asks, trying to sound like he had not just come moment earlier. Karl rolls over to the side of the loft, looking out to the main floor of the barn to look for the source of the sound.

But no one’s there.


	5. Chapter 5

“Rosie,” Karl says, heaving an exasperated breath. “Please cooperate.”

It’s the third Sunday of the month and Karl is busy trying to tether Rosie to their cart. Though she’s entirely recovered, the poor horse has gotten used to her break from being a workhorse and has spent the last ten minutes fighting Karl and the harness in his hands. The collar is over her shoulders, but she pointedly steps to the side whenever Karl tries to buckle the cinch.

“Come on, you blasted horse,” he huffs in frustration.

His mother brings the last sheaf of wheat and loads it onto the back, closing the gate and checking the latch. She huffs out a breath, smoothing her skirt before looking over at her struggling son. “Here, darling, let me get that for you.”

It takes only moments for the woman to have Rosie strapped and attached to the cart, leaving Karl once again staring at her in wonder. Before turning toward the house, she blows a kiss at Rosie and says: “Be good for Karl, sweetie.”

Father comes from around the corner of the barn, with Anders only a few steps behind. His face looks a mix of frustrated and provoked, looking straight ahead while Anders pleads with him.

“Can’t I go with him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Anders asks, a little boldly to the man who put a roof over his head these past couple months.

His father explains that it would be very suspicious that Karl would show up with a new person with him. Everyone knows the Thekla family has only four people, and one new addition would be too interesting for people to ignore.

Crossing his arms, Anders pouts. “They wouldn’t know I’m a mage, I promise!”

“They wouldn’t need to,” Father replies, shaking his head. “People talk, and we don’t need to be the topic of anyone’s gossip. We can’t afford to be.”

Karl frowns but ultimately agrees.

“Come now, Anders. I’m sure Camila will need some help with the potato harvest,” Father says definitively, gesturing toward where Karl’s mother was digging into the dirt with a trowel in the vegetable garden.

Anders flashes Karl a disappointed expression but waves goodbye as he turns to start toward the house.

“And you, my son,” his father says when Anders is out of earshot. “Please do be careful. Don’t stray from the road, don’t stop for anything on the way, and—”

“—don’t talk to anyone whom I don’t already know,” Karl finishes, nodding dutifully. “I know, Father.”

He’s gone to the market several dozen times, ever since he was thirteen and his father wanted to show him how to sell their crops and haggle with the other villagers.

“You’re a good boy,” his father says, resting a hand on his shoulder. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of parchment and drawstring pouch that clinks. “Here’s the list, and some coin just in case.”

The pouch of coin is heavy in his palm, but Karl knows it contains mostly copper and a handful of silvers. He’s never held a sovereign before, much less see one with his own eyes. Most people who live so far out in the country don’t tend to keep such amounts of money laying around, not in large denominations. Coming up with change for a sovereign would be nearly impossible.

His mother and father wave Karl off as they usually do, but Anders is noticeably absent. He doesn’t think too much of it, as Anders was too busy learning how to sew from his little sister the last time he went to the market.

The journey along the long winding road into the village is blissfully uneventful, and when he arrives, the market is in full swing. He sets up his cart in the usual spot near the edge of the main square, making sure to grab some of the leftover grain for Rosie to eat in the meantime.

Small talk with the villagers and local farmers, selling their crops and trading for things that his father wrote down—it’s all familiar, if not dreadfully dull. He’s busy scribbling down his sales in the family ledger when a someone speaks from behind.

“Oh, are these for sale?”

Knowing the voice but disbelieving it, Karl slams the ledger closed and spins on his heel. Sure enough, Anders stands just on the other side of the cart, wearing a hooded cloak that Karl recognizes as his own.

“Anders!” Karl hisses, glancing around nervously but no one seems to be paying any attention to them right this moment. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

Picking up one of Mother’s gourds and pretending to inspect it, Anders smiles and winks at him. “Like you could keep me away.”

Karl clenches his eyes shut and sighs. As he’s come to know Anders, he knows there’s no stopping him from doing something he wants to do. Anders walked all this way and there’d be no reason to send him back early, since Father might punish them both no matter how long he spends there. Besides, Karl would feel more comfortable being able to keep an eye on Anders instead of making him trudge through the woods alone.

But what do Father and Mother think? Clearly they don’t know that Anders is here, given the cloak and utter secrecy. Are they worried for him? Would they be angry about going against Father’s wishes?

“Fine,” Karl says after a time, rubbing the bridge of his nose between two fingers. There’s no use in arguing about it, what’s done is done. “But we have to act like we don’t know each other.”

“Right.”

“And you can’t tell anyone where you’re from—”

“Obviously.”

“—and,” Karl begins but Anders holds up a hand to silence him.

“Karl, _please,_ ” he says, exasperated. “I promise I can take care of myself. To everyone here, I’ll just be a traveler passing through. Alright?”

After a pause to consider, Karl nods. Anders seems significantly more satisfied with that, turning and placing a hand on each hip while he looks out at the other market-goers. Just as he takes a step forward to make his way through the crowd, Karl reaches out to stop him.

“Wait,” Karl says, shoving a hand into his pocket and digging out the pouch of coin. He digs out a single silver and hands it over. Anders’ eyes widen, holding out his palm and staring at Karl in disbelief. “If you see anything you like.”

It isn’t what Father intended the money for, but he’ll figure out how to explain it later. Anders deserves something, something he chose himself and paid money for—even if it wasn’t his own. 

In the end, Karl just wants to see him happy.

Karl feels anxious while watching Anders talk to numerous people from afar. He knows most villagers are often wary of travelers, as common as they may be though these parts, and a golden blond of strong Anderfels-descent wouldn’t put anyone immediately at ease.

Over the course of the afternoon, Karl overhears Anders weave a mystical story of traveling across all the nations, describing in some detail of all the monuments and ruins he’s seen in Orlais and Nevarra. Many villagers put their browsing on pause just to listen to the mage’s grand tales of adventure and mystery. 

People seem to like him, and how could they not? Anders is one of the most charming and charismatic people Karl has ever met.

“That was quite the spectacle,” Karl remarks as he loads what’s left of his own goods back into the cart. Rosie is already hitched to it, kicking at the dirt and flies unhappily as she waits to start the journey. The market is over and most villagers are packing up to go home, except most of their distances are much shorter than his. “Have you even been to any of those places?”

Anders smiles at him, retying the cloak’s knot at the base of his neck. “Of course not. I haven’t even been out of Ferelden. But I have read hundreds of books, and it’s not like anyone around here would know the difference.”

They laugh together, thinking of all the rumors that will be flying around the village about the ‘incredible traveler’ for the next few weeks. Karl’s family will probably never hear any of it, living as far away as they do, but entertaining the thought is enough for him.

“Did you end up buying anything?” Karl asks, walking beside Anders on their way back to the farm. “With the silver, I mean.”

“Hm?” Anders says, taking a moment for the question to click. “Oh! Uhm, no, not today. Maybe next time!”

Karl leans in and narrows his eyes at Anders, feeling there’s something suspicious about the way he answered. “Really. Are you sure?”

Anders nods.

“Then may I have the silver back?”

“Uh… I lost it?”

“No you didn’t,” Karl says, snorting at Anders’ abnormally cruddy lie. “What did you buy?”

Just as Anders opens his mouth to tell, most likely, another transparent lie, the smallest ‘mew’ sound could be heard, coming from just behind Anders.

“... What was that?”

“What do you m—”

But before Anders can finish feigning obliviousness, a grey kitten pops out from the pouch of the cloak’s hood. It’s tiny, probably no older than a few weeks judging by how it blinks its bleary little blue eyes at Karl and stumbles to hold on with minuscule claws.

“You… you bought a _cat?_ ”

“Yes!” Anders exclaims, rather gleefully now that the secret is out. “Isn’t she adorable!”

Karl groans. This isn’t what he thought Anders would buy with the silver, it’s much worse. “We already have cats. Three cats!”

“Now we have four!” Anders replies, picking up the kitten with one hand and holding her carefully in his palm. He nuzzles her cheek with his sharp nose, smiling and cooing and kissing her on the head. “I’m sure she’ll be catching mice in no time.”

Karl frowns, closely inspecting the tiny creature. “She’s so small, are you sure?”

“I was told she was the runt of the litter—” and when Karl scoffs at that, Anders is quick to come to the small kitten’s defense, “—but that doesn’t mean she’s a lost cause!”

“Anders…”

“Don’t give up on her, Karl,” Anders says, his voice becoming dramatically quiet, almost far away. “You didn’t give up on me.”

_‘Low blow, you ass,’_ Karl thinks with a roll of his eyes, ultimately resigning himself to his fate of explaining to Father than Anders spent an entire silver on a cat—and worse, Karl gave him a silver in the first place. Ah well, what’s done is done. It’s not like they could turn around and ask the original owner for their silver back.

“Does she at least have a name?” Karl says after a time, keeping his eyes on the dusty road ahead of them but watching Anders perk up beside him from the corner of his eye.

Anders holds out the kitten proudly, presenting her as if she were something royal and precious. Which, to Anders, she probably is. “Lady Fluffpaw.”

Karl groans. “Dear Maker…”


	6. Chapter 6

The autumn grows colder, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of Ferelden’s winter that feels only weeks away at this point. It had snowed that morning, just a light dusting of snow that lingered on the ground, roof, and trees for most of the day.

Karl’s eyes flutter open, blinking several times in the darkness. He doesn’t have to look out the window to know that the sun hasn’t even begun starting to rise in the east. He squints, trying to figure out why he woke so early. He’s cold, but not unbearably, so it must be—

And then he hears it, a small but pained whimpering sound.

Karl’s head whips around, eyes squinting through the darkness to make out the outline of Anders beside him, curled up on himself with arms drawn flush to his chest. The other mage whimpers again, and this time much more urgently. It isn’t the first time Anders has woken him up with sleep-talking and dreams, but Anders sounds much more afraid than he has in the past.

Quickly lighting the lantern on the bedside table, Karl turns back to watch, worried, while Anders begins to twitch and thrash.

“No, please, no,” Anders says, first quietly but then his voice rises. “No, I can’t—I can’t—stop, I’m _begging_ you—”

Something heavy in Karl’s stomach drops, like a punch to the gut. Anders continues to beg, pleading for his tormentor in this nightmare to stop. He tosses his arms about like he was fighting off an assailant, his whole body shaking in fear.

Karl can’t bear to watch anymore.

He reaches out, his hand hovering over Anders’ body before settling on his shoulder in a firm grasp. Without opening his eyes, Anders yelps and wrenches away from what he had meant to be a grounding touch. Anders shuffles back from him toward the wall, shaking his head but still asleep.

“I promise, I promise I’ll never do it again!” Anders is much louder this time, and if it weren’t for his overwhelming concern for him, Karl would be worried about someone in the house overhearing his distress. It’s too late to be concerned about that, and it would be heartless to prioritize quiet over Anders’ emotional well-being.

“Anders,” Karl says, his voice louder than a whisper but still trying not to be loud. “Wake up. Please, love.”

Karl blinks rapidly, shocked at himself and wondering where the term of endearment came from. Anders still doesn’t wake, so Karl feels fortunate that the other boy didn’t hear it. When the mage chokes out a sob, Karl leans over him to catch both of Anders’ flying hands in his owns.

“ _Anders!_ ”

Anders wakes, sounding like he’s just come up for air after nearly drowning. Panicked amber eyes fly open, looking around wildly before finally settling on Karl.

“Karl!” Anders exclaims between heaving breaths, sounding almost relieved to see him. “Karl, I—I… _fucking Andraste._ ” He shudders, shaking his head and breathing hard through clenched teeth before trying again. It’s so painful to see Anders like this, struggling to get himself under control with tears welling at the corners of his eyes. “I, um, I’m sorry… for waking you like this.”

“It’s alright,” Karl says, frowning. The last thing Anders should be doing right now is apologizing. “Don’t worry about me.”

Seeing that Anders is still a bit panicked and tense, Karl desperately wants to hold him close in his arms but knows he shouldn’t touch Anders, not after a reaction like that.

Lady, whom Karl refuses to call by her full name, is still curled up in her basket near the door, having slept through the whole ordeal. Karl feels a flare of jealousy for how peaceful she is, before realizing how dumb it feels to feel jealous of a kitten. If only her owner had the same ease when it came to sleeping.

They settle back into bed and Karl pulls the blanket over both of them. From a safe distance, Karl listens to Anders’ rapid breathing slow and their heartbeats sync. Neither of them speak a single word, looking anywhere but at each other for several minutes. It was intensely personal, what he just witnessed, and Karl wishes he knew the right thing to do here, what he could possibly do to best help Anders after a night like that.

“Are you feeling a little better now?” Karl takes the chance to ask, perhaps quarter of an hour after laying down together. Anders nods, hiding most of his face beneath the edge of the quilt. Karl frowns, peeling back the blanket just enough to see Anders’ tear-reddened face in the lamplight. “Would you… like to talk about it?”

The offer feels farfetched, sounding more like empty pity though he truly means it, but Karl is surprised to see Anders accept.

“It wasn’t so much of a nightmare than it was memories,” Anders begins quietly, sounding hesitant about having this discussion at all. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a few moments before pushing out not only the air but the tension from his shoulders.

“I thought so,” Karl replies, playing it safe. He doesn’t want to say too much and risk Anders shutting down on him. By merely speaking, Anders has shown that he’s decided talking about it would help, so Karl stays silent. 

They’ve now moved so that they’re lying facing each other, close enough to share body warmth again. Karl is careful not to touch Anders, not knowing if it’s a good idea as much as he’d like to do it. They’ve found comfort in each other before, through physical touches—a casual hug when alone, an arm thrown around each other while sleeping, even just brushing a stray strand of hair out of each other's eyes.

“It was of the Circle,” Anders says, sighing heavily like the weight of everything was finally crushing him. He seems older somehow, like the memory had aged him a decade. It’s the tiredness in his eyes, written into his face that tells Karl this isn’t the first nor last time this has happened. “It wasn’t always bad—there’s a lot of studying, being forced to sing hymns in the Chantry chapel and the like—but when it was bad, it was downright _horrifying._ ”

Karl listens silently, giving all of his attention to the other mage baring his heart. Anders needs this, he needs to get it out. Before this moment, Anders has never talked about his life in the Circle, always quickly deflecting the topic with a well-timed remark or a clever or crude joke.

Though his body has mostly settled except for the occasional tremors, Karl can still see Anders’ hand shaking on the mattress between them. He considers it for a moment, weighing the outcomes before slowly sliding his hand across the gap. Anders’ speech stutters when Karl’s fingers brush against his, but responds by linking their fingers together.

“Corralling us into tiny dormitories, making us wear humiliating clothes, and herding us from place to place… They treated us like animals, like we were less than people,” Anders said, his voice tinged with a mixture of sadness and anger. “We were raised to learn that magic is a curse from the Maker, like we were born Blighted.”

Anders sighs heavily, and something in Karl’s chest echoes it, since feeling cursed is something he can deeply relate with.

“I’d go months without seeing the sun, and some mages go their entire lives without feeling it on their skin,” he continues, describing something that Karl could never imagine. “Unable to leave, unable to go outside… Not even allowed to go anywhere in the tower without permission.”

It doesn’t even sound like a life.

“We were always watched, it was hard to find a spot in the tower that wasn’t within sight of a templar,” Anders says. “They couldn’t trust us not to do blood magic, even meeting a friend might be seen as conspiring against the Chantry.”

When the other mage sniffles and trips over the next few words, Karl squeezes his hand in assurance. _‘I’m here, I’m listening. You’re safe now, I promise,’_ he wants to say, but knows not to interrupt.

“There was a templar…” Anders starts, his voice wavering as he shuts his eyes in remembrance. “He was always taking advantage of his position of power, holding Tranquility over any mage who wouldn’t let him do what he wanted.”

Karl has to lean in to hear the next few words, uttered so quietly that he’s not even sure they were meant for him.

“I can… I can still feel his hands all over me…”

_Oh,_ how it hurts to hear this, but nowhere near as much as it must be hurting Anders to say this aloud. Hyper-conscious of where they’re touching, Karl tries pulling his hand away, but Anders holds on steady, like he needs this touch more than ever.

“And mages are subjected to similar treatment for the rest of their lives, caged and abused just for being born. Nothing we have—not our clothes, our lives, not even our bodies—are ours anymore. Once a mage is taken to the Circle, the Chantry treats them as property.”

It’s worse than Karl could have ever imagined, and yet Anders had been living that reality for years. No wonder he escaped, no wonder he was so desperate to be taken in by Karl’s family who were sympathetic to his plight.

“The worst part is that no one believes us, about anything. We’re all powerless, stripped of any rights we would have otherwise had.”

“Not even adult mages believed you?”

“Maybe they did, but they can’t do anything about it,” Anders replies with a sigh. “It’s up to us to take care of each other, but it’s difficult. No one has parental instincts because no one is allowed to be a parent. I’m lucky to remember mine, but most mages I know don’t even know where they were born… taken from their homes at such a young age.”

Karl can’t imagine not knowing his parents, or living without his family. He recalls their talk in the cellar, remembering that even though Anders remembers his parents, his relationship with them was terrible.

Then it hits him like a sack of rocks. Karl’s family might be the very first one that Anders truly knows.

Anders yawns, fingers flexing in Karl’s firm grip but not letting go.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding more sleepy than burnt out from his nightmare, but still genuine. “For listening, that is. No one ever bothered to before.”

The earnest tone of that statement tugs on Karl’s heart. Anders’ eyes have already slipped shut, and Karl knows that he’s well on his way to sleep already. Their hands are still linked, and he doesn’t feel that he can let go just yet.

“Anytime you need.”


	7. Chapter 7

It isn’t a surprise that Anders sleeps in the next morning. Karl silently lets himself out of the bedroom, cornering his parents at the kitchen table and explaining his plan for the day. He doesn’t give away too much—those are Anders’ secret to share—but, judging by their sympathetic expressions, he knows that his parents heard Anders’ outbursts last night.

Anders is sitting up in bed and wiping the sleep from his eyes when Karl returns. He smiles weakly, but neither of them mention the events from the middle of the night. Something in Karl’s heart wants to bring it up, to ask Anders how he’s feeling and assure him that he’s not alone. But he doesn’t, just gives a gentle smile in return.

“It seems late,” Anders comments, looking through the window to the sunny outdoors. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“We’re taking today off,” Karl announces after clearing his throat.

Anders blinks up at him. “We’re _allowed_ to do that?”

“Well no, not usually,” Karl answers, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I asked Mother and Father if we could and they said yes.”

They only agreed to Karl’s request if he’d finish a few chores while Anders was sleeping, but he’s not going to mention that part.

Frowning, Anders looks at him suspiciously, almost as if he thinks Karl told his parents all about his nightmares. Karl hopes that isn’t the case, since he tried his best not to go into detail.

“Oh,” Anders says at last, swinging his legs off the bed and standing to stretch. His sleeping tunic rises a little, exposing a sliver of pale skin dusted with golden hair on his stomach, and Karl desperately looks at anything and everything else in the room. “What are we doing, then?”

“I’m going to take you to my favorite place in the world.”

“The _whole_ world?” Anders asks, smiling playfully while raising a skeptical brow.

Karl rolls his eyes but smiles. “The whole world I know of, yes. Somewhere I’ve never taken anyone else before.”

After breakfast, Karl packs some extra food, water, and a few other things into a satchel when Anders isn’t looking. They bid his parents goodbye for the day and it takes several assurances— _yes,_ they’ll be back before sunset and _yes,_ they’ll be careful—before his mother lets them past the door.

It’s cold outside and there’s a good amount of snow on the ground, but thankfully there isn’t the strong wind that was present the previous day. Karl borrowed his father’s wool cloak to wear, heavy around his shoulders but warm. Anders is wearing Karl’s, and the sight of the other mage in his clothes again makes something in Karl’s stomach warm.

They set off toward the west, the rising sun at their backs to light the way. The hike shouldn’t take more than half an hour, but the icy path makes it slightly more difficult than he remembers. Karl hikes ahead, his feet knowing where to go since he’s made the trek so many times. He hasn’t gone there in quite awhile, not since before finding Anders in the barn.

It’s somewhere special to him, a place he considers all his own since his family doesn’t know about its existence. When he’s able, he tries to steal away there when chores are done and he needs some space.

How he’ll be able to share that space with Anders, who has been following him up the foot of the mountain, surprisingly without complaint. A familiar calming silence surrounds them, nothing else to be heard other than the crunch of snow beneath their boots and the occasional sound of the evergreens rustling in the slight breeze.

They arrive to the rocky outcropping that leads up to the final destination, but they’ve turned a bit icy due to the recent weather. They climb in relative silence and when Karl pulls himself up to a safe ledge, he turns just in time to see that Anders doesn’t have nearly as much coordination and practice.

“Agh—!” Anders grunts, foot slipping against the icy stone as he starts to backslide. His eyes are wide in panic, arms flailing about to find something to grab hold of.

Karl’s hand flies out to catch one of Anders’ wrists, holding it painfully tight but pulling him up to the ledge until he’s standing steady on his feet beside Karl. Anders thanks him and that seems to be that, except for that neither of them let go of each other’s hands for the rest of the journey. 

The feel of Anders’ hand in his feels so right, but it also reminds Karl of last night, making him wonder if it does the same for Anders.

“Here we are,” Karl announces, finally letting go of Anders’ hand to wave his arm in a flourish.

His ‘favorite place in the world’ is a hot spring, a freshwater pond fed by an underground well that stays pleasantly warm year-round. Steam rises through the frosty winter air, making the clear sparkling water more enticing than ever before.

“This is amazing,” Anders says, his voice filled with absolute awe. He walks to the edge and hunches over to wrestle a boot and sock off his foot. He smiles when his toes brush the water. “Mmm, and it’s warm too!”

Karl laughs, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t take you swimming in the winter if the water was _cold._ ”

“I don’t know,” Anders replies, already sitting on a nearby rock and unlacing his other boot. “You take cold baths sometimes! What sort of idiot doesn’t heat bathwater?”

“It was practically summer, Anders. It was hot.”

“Whatever you say,” Anders says, already peeling off the rest of his clothes and tossing them on a bare tree branch. When he looks over his bare shoulder, his hands pause on the waistband of his pants when he spots Karl ogling. He grins. “Well, aren’t you coming?”

It takes a few moments for Karl’s brain to take back over. “Y-yeah, right behind you.”

Karl turns away and starts undoing the strap to his father’s cloak, careful that the hem doesn’t get too dirty. He sheds his clothes at a slower pace than Anders, feeling considerably less motivated to get into the spring as fast as possible. Stripped down to nothing but his skin, Anders sinks into the steaming water with an appreciative hiss.

“ _Sweet flaming Andraste,_ ” he says, eyes fluttering closed as he lowers far enough that the water covers his shoulders and gets the tip of his ponytail wet. “Where has this been all my life?”

“Up a mountain,” Karl says dryly, sliding into the water with his front turned away as to hide himself. Thanks to Anders’ seemingly zero sense of modesty, he got a good look at Anders earlier, but he’s slightly hard and that’s the last thing he wants Anders to notice.

“Shush you,” Anders says, slapping his hand against the water and sending some toward Karl’s face. “I meant why didn’t you show me this before?”

“I dunno,” Karl shrugs, moving across the small spring to find a shallow place to sit. “We’ve been busy.”

“We’re always busy,” Anders replies with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “But I’ve come to learn that life on a farm is always busy.”

Karl makes a vague noise in agreement, feeling keenly aware that they’re both naked. The water moves and undulates from the underground spring feeding into it, and he’s thankful for the steam that blocks at least some of their vision of what’s beneath the surface.

Anders chuckles softly, letting his eyes slide shut as he comes to rest against one of the more smooth rocks encircling the water. With his attention finally turned away, Karl takes the opportunity to let his eyes linger on the mage on the other side of the spring.

At some point, Anders had taken the time to tie his ponytail a little higher, to keep it from dangling in the water. With his hair so carefully kept away from his face, the angles of his face are clearly visible, even through the steam rising up from the water. It shines gold in the sunlight filtering through a gap in the trees, making his skin glow warmly unlike the pale sickly pallor he had when they first met. Anders is remarkably handsome, and he’ll only prove to grow into his features as they grow older.

_‘As they grow older.’_

The thought gets caught in Karl’s thoughts, leading him to consider the future now that Anders is now part of it. If he were to ask himself honestly, Karl couldn’t imagine a future without Anders involved in some way. He’s grown accustomed to Anders’ bright smile during cloudy days, his cunning wit that never fails to make him laugh, his long gangly body that takes up just the right amount of space in his bed.

Escaped Circle mage aside, Anders is everything Karl has ever wanted to be. He’s confident in his magic, trained to use it and keep it from hurting anyone. The only time Karl attempted to use magic for anything other than the occasional fireball to light a lantern, he accidentally hurt his father and scared his little sister. Though he hasn’t seen much of what Anders can do, Karl knows that Anders is infinitely more skilled and talented.

Something floods Karl’s chest, a feeling of warm admiration and awe that rivals the temperature of the water. He truly loves Anders’ strength, his personality… his everything. As the realization slowly dawns on him, Karl closes his eyes to think.

Does he love Anders? The idea of it both exhilarates and frightens him, but he knows that, at this very moment, there’s nothing more in the world that Karl wants than to kiss Anders. He wants to hold Anders in his arms and touch every part of him, see his beautiful face every day for the rest of his life.

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft sound of water splashing, and Karl cracks an eye open. Anders has appeared right next to Karl, making him nearly jump out of his own skin.

“Maker, Anders,” Karl stutters, immediately inching away from him.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Anders says, moving closer and making any attempt at evasion completely fruitless. “But are you sure you’ve never taken someone here before?” He leans in, eyes lowering while his voice drops seductively to whisper into Karl’s ear. “It’s quite romantic.”

Karl feels a shiver run down his spine and swallows so hard he swears it must be audible. Anders has his hand braced on a rock above Karl’s shoulder, their bodies painfully close. “I’m, uhm, I’m sure.”

He tries to return Anders’ gaze for as long as he can but eventually can’t bear to look into those soulful amber eyes anymore. Their faces are unbelievably close, visible breaths intermingling between them in an awkwardly intimate moment that Karl wishes he was better prepared for. From this distance, he can see every single freckle dusting the man’s cheekbones like stars in the sky. Anders’ lips are pink, either from the cold or from the way he bites them so often in concentration.

_Oh Maker,_ he wants to kiss him.

Karl’s breath hitches and he turns to look away, but fingers find his jaw and guide him back. His attention is drawn back to Anders’ eyes, looking down at him from where he hovers almost over his lap. “What about this?”

Karl blinks owlishly at him, absolutely caught by Anders’ every hypnotizing move. “What?”

When Anders leans in closer, nearly but not quite brushing their lips together, Karl does too. “Are you sure about this?”

His heart beating fast and loud against his ribs, Karl is struck speechless. His thoughts move so quick, he can’t even tell them apart. _‘Is this—? Does he—? Is he going to—? Oh Maker—!’_

It takes far too much willpower and focus, but Karl nods ever so slightly.

Anders lips are warm against his, but the feeling is fleeting as Anders pulls away, leaving the kiss short and chaste. Karl’s eyes open to see Anders peering at him, looking more uncertain by the second.

_‘No, no, please don’t regret this.’_

Unable to control the impulse, Karl reaches to cup Anders’ face in his hand, pulling him down for a second, more explosive kiss. To his relief, Anders immediately melts into it, practically crawling into his lap as their mouths move together. Karl slides them both further into the water, so that they’re both mostly submerged and protected from the biting cold.

A quiet but needy noise escapes Anders’ throat as Karl wraps both arms around his waist, his hands sliding further beneath the water until they come to rest on the slight rise above Anders’ ass. Karl’s still acutely aware of their state of undress, and how close their exposed cocks are somewhere underwater, but he can’t seem to find that same modesty he had before.

His senses are filled with Anders—his smell, his taste, the feel of his bare skin— _Anders, Anders, Anders._

Hands trail over Karl’s shoulders, holding on steady while they kiss almost endlessly. They part for breaths, heaving stark cold air into their lungs before rushing back to the wet heat of each other’s mouths. Something in Karl’s chests loosens and breaks free, like Anders touching his soul and cradling his heart in his hands.

Karl feels like he could stay there forever, exploring Anders’ mouth with his tongue and savoring finally having the man of his dreams in his arms, but alas time moves too quickly. The afternoon sun starts its descent, signalling that they should start their journey home before it becomes too dark to see. He doesn’t want to leave the privacy of this place, but Karl didn’t bring a lantern and he promised his parents they’d be back before then.

They’re both quiet during the journey back, but their gloved fingers are laced together almost the entire time, only letting go when they reach the field closest to the house. The sun is nearly setting, and from this distance, they can see the lamplight filter through the windows.

“Karl,” Anders says, stopping and pulling on his hand. He smiles, so warm like the rays of the sun, when Karl turns to face him. He leans in and kisses him softly, not letting their lips linger for too long. “Thank you, for today. For everything.”

Karl smiles at him and leans forward just enough to rest their foreheads together. There’s a dozen things he wants to say at this very moment— _‘you’re welcome,’_ for one, or possibly _‘you deserve so much more than this,’_ or even _‘I should be the one thanking you’_ —but what he wants most to say is something else entirely. Something has been echoing in his head and heart the whole day, but it’s just now that he realizes just what those words are.

_‘I love you.’_

“Come,” Anders says, taking Karl’s hand again and pulling him toward the house. “It’s nearly dinnertime and I’m starving!”

Nodding, Karl follows, swallowing those words he so desperately wants to say. _‘Another time,’_ he tells himself. Save them for another time, since there will be plenty more of it.

From then on, things are different. Something changed that day at the hot spring and it’s… good. So incredibly good. They sleep closer together at night, sometimes braving a gentle touch or purposefully draping an arm across each other beneath the blanket. Anders is a little more forward, seemingly having much more experience than Karl, who has never had the chance to do more than flirt with a few village locals.

Between chores, Anders sometimes pushes him behind a tree or wall and kisses him senseless. Karl learns that his tongue is honey-sweet just like his words, and Karl could get drunk on him like he does with his father’s whiskey from time to time. Though Anders’ kisses could devour him during the daytime, Karl is always the one to kiss him goodnight, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips as their bodies warm each other from inside.

He is pleased with this new step, this new part of their relationship, and he can tell that Anders is too. If Karl could spend the rest of his life like this, with Anders, he would die a happy man.


	8. Chapter 8

As Ferelden quickly approaches the dead of winter, the weather grows colder and the days get shorter. There’s a chill in the air that lingers on the tips of one’s fingers and nips at the ears, even during a sunny midday. There’s snow on the ground in patches, never given ample opportunity to melt completely before another cold wave rolls over the mountains.

Karl is busy fixing one of the house’s window panes, since the glass shattered and the wood splintered during the last windstorm that swept through the valley. He started the project while there was still sunlight, but sunset came too quickly and Anders soon had to join him with a lantern.

“Ugh,” Anders bemoans, shivering and keeping the hand not holding the lantern tucked against himself under his coat. “Fucking Andraste, it’s cold.”

“Language,” Karl reminds him, fitting one of the glass panes into its square. He doesn’t care about foul language, not one bit, but Mother expresses disapproval every time she hears it. His mother is within earshot of the swear—on the other side of the window, skillfully kneading bread on the counter while humming to herself. 

“Alright.”

“Could you hand me that?”

Anders turns toward the wooden box of tools beside him, looking at the various tools Karl has laid out to install the new window. “Uh, which one would that be?”

“The—”

A scream echoes through the area, disturbing birds from the trees.

Karl’s and Anders’ eyes meet for a split-second before Karl rushes past him, sprinting toward the source of the scream. It sounds like it came from the other side of the house, perhaps the gardens or near the shed. With Anders and the lantern many steps behind him, Karl has to squint through the darkness to find his way there. With every stride, he’s filled with more and more dread, knowing the scream sounded so familiar but desperately hoping it’s not...

_It is._

Karl skids to a stop just in time to see his sister sitting on the muddied snow, crying hysterically. The front of Aggie’s coat is covered in blood as she clutches her arm to her chest.

Forming a large half-circle around her, are the shadowy forms of four massive wolves. Three of them stalk the perimeter slowly while one is crouched low, looking ready to move at any given moment. There’s something green glowing in their eyes, something frightening that Karl has never seen before. Could it be… possession? The brief thought strikes fear into his heart. There’s no chance of getting through this if these wolves are demons.

“Agatha!” Father shouts, dashing toward the scene while brandishing a sword. Karl has seen it before, but never in the hands of his own father. The man’s eyes widen at the wolves, quickly becoming more worried about the situation unfolding. “Boys, these are no ordinary wolves!”

Taking advantage of the wolves’ distraction, Karl makes a break for his sister, hoping to reach her before the next wolf moves to attack. With long strides, Karl runs faster than he ever has before but he’s only halfway there when the wolf growls—a terrifyingly deep and otherworldly sound—and prepares to leap towards her.

Karl feels it ghost across his skin and raise the hairs on his arms before it happens.

Suddenly bright purple lightning sparks through the air, branching and striking right through the chest of the foremost wolf and catching the nearest one in an echoing chain. They both howl in pain, backing away just enough for Karl to wrap his sister in a protective embrace, careful of her arm that looks like a bite has been taken out of it.

With his sister in his grasp, Karl chances a look over his shoulder. A few strides away, Anders stands in a strong stance, his arm outreached with his hand flat out in the air as lightning crackles around it.

Karl watches breathlessly as Anders changes stance, looking fiercely determined in the light of his own magic and that of the moons. His fingers curl to a fist as he pushes out a large fireball, larger than Karl has ever managed himself with his meager practice, and launches it toward the small pack of wolves.

With some injured, the wolves yelp and whine, slowly backing away from the flames that Anders constantly pushes forth like a wall of fire. He forces them to the edge of the garden, taking two steps forward for each one the wolves take back. When another growls and makes toward Anders, he mercilessly strikes it down with a fist of stone. It collapses, starting to spill blood onto the snow.

Though the other wolves’ eyes glow a mystical green— _‘demons, it has to be’_ —Karl can still see fear in them.

When the remaining wolves disappear into the forest with their tails between their legs, the three men let out a collective breath. Karl slowly uncurls himself from around his sister, who immediately starts crying again now that the adrenaline is draining. His father closes the distance between them, scooping Aggie up into his arms and carrying her to the house with both Karl and Anders following only one step behind.

When they enter, Mother has already cleared everything off the table and motions for Father to set her down on the surface. Now that they’re under the the kitchen’s lamps, the damage is clearly visible and worse than they all had feared. A chunk of flesh is missing from her arm, still bleeding all over her clothes and her father’s chest. 

Karl’s stomach churns sour, seeing _human bone_ for the first time in his life.

Everyone is panicking, but Anders lights up his hands with pale green energy and holds them over her. His amber eyes flutter closed, his chest taking in a steady breath and biting his lip as his expression turns to one of pure concentration.

The entire family watches in astonishment as her flesh begins to knit itself together, growing and repairing itself until there’s only pink, new skin left—not quite as if it never happened, but close enough. Her crying calms considerably and Karl can tell she’s not in much pain anymore, just understandably shaken.

After his parents look at each other briefly with unreadable expressions, his mother takes Aggie to bed. Meanwhile, Father turns to them both, looking a mix of rattled, worried, and stern. “To bed, boys.”

Karl closes the bedroom door behind them, shutting out the scene of his mother returning to the kitchen to speak with his father. Anders immediately starts to dress for bed while Karl listens through the door to hear what his parents are talking about.

“They’re arguing,” Karl says after a time. Anders stops, his shirt just barely over his shoulders and Karl swallows at the sight of the other man’s bare chest. _‘Now’s not the time,’_ he reminds himself.

“About?”

“You, mainly.”

“Oh,” Anders sighs, letting his nightshirt fall down the rest of his torso before dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“They don’t like that you used magic.”

“Why?” Anders asks as Karl comes to sit beside him. The disappointment laces the single word, and Karl wonders who it’s meant for. “I don’t think a sword would have been half as good against _demons._ What else should I have done?”

“It’s just…” Karl begins, pausing when he realizes there’s no good way of describing what his parents are feeling. “Well… It’s too dangerous, someone might’ve seen and notified a templar.”

Anders frowns. “They were _demons,_ Karl, though Maker knows why. If there were ever a time to use magic, it would have been tonight. Had you not been covering your sister, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

“I, uh… I would have… but I don’t really know how.”

The other mage blinks blankly at him. “What?”

“Magic,” Karl says, shaking his head when he realizes it’s an unhelpful response. “No one has taught me how to use it.”

“Karl—”

“Even if I tried, I’m not good enough. I couldn’t have used magic to save Aggie, not like you did. Everything you did for her, that was _good._ ”

Anders’ expression crumples, looking down at his socked feet and speaks quietly. “No one ever says that.”

“Says what?”

“That magic is good.”

Karl frowns. While his parents have never told him that his magic is anything less than risky, he knows that Anders’ experience in the Circle isn’t the same. Though Anders lived much of his life learning how to control and hone his magic, he still lived in constant fear. He remembers their late night discussion some time ago, where Anders told him how it feels to have every aspect of one’s life controlled and his very existence damned by the Chantry.

The memory stirs something up in Karl, prompting him to lay a hand on Anders’ shoulders and squeeze. “It’s very good—no, Anders, it’s _amazing._ You’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met. You saved my sister and healed her, you fought off four wolves by yourself. You summoned lightning right out of thin air! I’d love to be able to do that, even though—”

A knock on the door interrupts him.

It’s Mother, who beckons them both into the kitchen where Father is sitting. Karl sits beside Anders on the other side, watching Anders out of the corner of his eye. The other mage sits quietly, head hung low as if he was waiting to be punished.

“Chin up, my boy,” Father says to Anders, sounding as comforting as a man of his temperament can. After the tone of the discussion he heard through the door, even Karl is a little hesitant about what his father might say or what they might have decided “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here.”

Though Karl’s father has never said something like this to him, Karl is certainly glad he’s saying it to Anders, who needs to hear it the most at this moment.

“That being said,” the older man continues, “we’re worried for you—for both of you. Using magic outside in the open was incredibly risky, and I’d ask you not to do it again.”

“But Father,” Karl starts, hands curling into fists in his lap. Is the man truly this ungrateful for what Anders has done for their family? Anders fought off demons, saving not only Aggie’s but possibly all of their lives.

“Quiet,” his father says tersely, and Karl’s mouth snaps closed.

“Anders,” Mother says, taking over the discussion. “You saved my baby’s life and I could never thank you enough for it, but please think of your safety, and Karl’s safety too. The last thing we want is for someone to see and take you away from us, the both of you.”

“Promise us you won’t put yourself or Karl in danger,” Father says.

Anders looks from Father to Karl and back again, shoulders falling as he heaves out a silent sigh. “Yes, ser.”

“Good.”

“Now get some sleep, you two,” his mother says. “It’s been a long day for all of us.”

Neither Karl nor Anders speak a word to each other while getting into bed. Unlike previous nights, where he would immediately mold himself to Karl and promptly fall asleep, Anders turns toward the wall and pulls his half of the blanket around himself. Karl can still feel his body heat, but he misses the direct contact he was getting used to.

Not even twenty minutes later, Karl feels the mattress adjust as Anders rolls over. He can’t see the other mage in the dark, but he knows he’s very close. 

“Karl?”

“Hm?” Karl hums sleepily, exhausted from the evening’s events.

“I want to teach you.”

“Teach me what?”

“How to use magic.”

Karl is instantly more awake. Is this a dream? It doesn’t sound real. “Really?”

“Yes,” comes Anders’ voice in return, and Karl can practically hear the smile in his voice. “Magic is good. It’s a gift from the Maker, and you should learn how to use it. One day, it might be up to you to do the rescuing.”

Karl chuckles and grins, feeling Anders shuffle closer to him. He immediately throws an arm around his waist and pulls him in until their bodies touch all along their chests. Anders melts against him, sighing out all the tension he’s been holding. Karl blindly reaches out to brush hair out of Anders’ face, kissing his forehead and then his lips, feeling overwhelmed with excitement and gratitude for the mage in his arms.

“Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

After finishing their daily duties, there’s a small window of time where they’re able to sneak away from the house. There’s precious few places on the Thekla farm that affords them even a modicum of privacy. After some thought, Karl and Anders decide to hole up in the barn loft, spending half an afternoon strategically rearranging hay so that they wouldn’t be seen immediately even if someone did come looking for them.

Clearly once a student, Anders first assesses Karl’s current level of skill—which is, quite plaintively—nearly zero. Karl manages to generate a small blue flame, but it wavers and flickers the longer he tries to keep it going. He gets frustrated, sending a few tiny but wild fireballs into the nearby metal bucket full of water set aside for this purpose. He perches his chin in his hands, an elbow balanced on the knees of his crossed legs.

“It’s alright,” Anders says, patting him on the shoulder. “That was good. You’re doing great.”

Though Karl knows the other mage is sincere, he can’t help but to hear it as pitying. “Anders, can you be honest with me for a moment?”

“Of course,” he replies, tilting his head questioningly.

“If I were in the Circle,” Karl says, noting how Anders’ lip twitches at the idea, “about what age would my level of skill match?”

Anders pauses, looking over Karl carefully before thinking. “Hm… perhaps a first year apprentice, perhaps a seven or eight year old? Had they arrived at the Circle at the average age of manifestation…”

“Seven or eight?” Karl exclaims, throwing his hands up into the air. “You’re saying I could be bested by an eight year old mage!”

“Please, darling,” Anders says, using the affectionate name that makes him melt. “You haven’t had _anyone_ to teach you magic your whole life. When I say you’re doing great, please believe that I truly do mean it. The fact that you haven’t set your own house on fire is a feat of commendable control.”

Karl sighs deeply, taking a steadying breath. He looks back up to meet Anders’ gaze, who smiles softly but honestly at him. “Really?”

“Yes. And to be perfectly honest, when I was a child, I accidentally set fire to a barn.”

Karl freezes, glancing at the space around them before looking back at Anders. “Uh, should we really be practicing magic here in the loft?”

Anders laughs, a beautiful sound that Karl could never get tired of. “We’ll be fine. That’s what the bucket of water is for, plus I’m a _little_ better at magic than I used to be when I was twelve. If you set anything on fire, I think an ice spell would minimize any damage, but I don’t think we’ll have that problem whatsoever.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Karl mumbles, though he feels considerably comforted by Anders’ unbroken faith in him.

They meet in the barn loft when they can, a few afternoons a week. Anders decides to focus Karl’s training on fire for the meantime, since it’s what he seems to have a knack for it already. It takes a few weeks, but soon enough, Karl is able to generate a stable flame, shoot small fireballs with relative accuracy, and even one accidental immolation quickly doused with ice. 

Anders tells him casting spells would be easier with a staff to channel his energy, but that he’s doing well without one. Karl can remember the staff that used to lay against the wall of the barn’s tack room when he was younger, but the staff—most likely his grandmother’s—disappeared many years ago. His father most likely sold it, or at least hid it in a better place when the templars started visiting their corner of the countryside more often. Karl entertains the idea of buying a staff from the traveling purveyors of eccentric goods that occasionally come by, but he knows it’s too risky.

After a while, Karl’s parents become suspicious of why the two of them disappear for a couple of hours a few times a week. Anders begins spinning a wildly complicated lie, but Karl cuts him off, telling his parents that they’re just talking and relaxing after a hard day’s work. He doesn’t know how long the lie will last with the weather growing much colder, but that’s a problem for another time.

Anders deems that Karl has a good enough grasp of fire and controlling a steady stream of magic. Having dealt with fire so much in the deepening winter, the move to ice magic makes Karl almost dread magic lessons. Eventually Anders keeps a perpetual flame between his hands while Karl practices, taking breaks to sit together and enjoy the flame’s warmth before starting again.

“So what about,” Karl begins, sparing a glance at Anders while trying to push frost from his fingertips at the target marked out on the wall, “every time I do a spell right, you give me a kiss.”

Anders chuckles, covering his mouth with his hand but poorly disguising the light pink that paints his cheeks. “That’s so cheesy.”

“How so?”

“You sound like you’ve stepped right out of a cruddy romance novel.”

“Oh?” Karl says with a grin, arching a brow at him. “Read a lot of those in your time, then?”

“Shush you,” Anders says, playfully punching Karl in the shoulder and causing his frost spell fizzle out. “And yes, if you’d like to know. Stuck in a tower with nothing but books, a young mage finds himself running out of quality smut to read.”

Karl’s jaw drops open. “Are there really—?”

“Yes, and some of them were unbelievably raunchy,” Anders says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Fine, I’ll give you a kiss, but I’m not going to grade you easily. You’ll have to do it perfectly!”

It takes a few tries, but Karl casts a perfect Winter’s Grasp, he turns toward Anders and looks at him expectantly. Anders smiles but it isn’t shy, closing the distance between their bodies and throwing his arms around Karl’s shoulders before kissing him. Anders’ lips are warm against his, and Karl licks across Anders’ lower lip, inviting him for a deeper kiss.

“No, no,” Anders says, stepping back and shaking a teasing finger at him. “You’ll have to _earn_ that.”

Karl would never admit it, but he learns ice spells _very quickly._

When Karl has a handle on the two elements thus far, they move onto earth spells. Anders explains that half of the mastery of earth spells involves grounding oneself to the earth and feeling it beneath one’s feet. The barn loft is unsurprisingly barren of earth, so they fill extra grain sacks up with rocks and pebbles and empty them on the loft floor.

“You’re getting closer,” Anders says after another failed attempt. Karl had a levitating ball of stone, but it fell apart halfway toward its target. 

Karl grunts, arms dropping to his side in defeat. “I don’t like this spell, it’s too difficult. Why can’t you teach me healing instead?”

Ever since Anders healed Aggie that one fateful night several months ago, Karl has wanted to learn. He’s brought it up a few times before this, but this is the first time he actually expects an answer. He’s been doing well with the elements, so why couldn’t they move onto something different?

“If you think stonefist is difficult, then you’re certainly not going to like healing,” Anders says from where he’s lounging on a nearby pile of hay. 

When Karl frowns at him, he stands up and brushes pieces of hay from his jacket. The weather has been growing warmer, only slightly, being just about bearable during the peak of the afternoon. The change has made practicing magic much more enjoyable, now that Karl’s hands aren’t in danger of freezing off while practicing casting.

“It’s just a little too advanced for you right now,” Anders explains with great sympathy. “You’ve come so far, it’s incredible, but you still have far to go. Take it from me—healing takes a great deal of focus and studying. If you do something wrong, there’s a great chance that you’ll make the injury worse instead of better.”

Sighing, Karl nods his head in understanding. “But in the future?” he asks, hopefully.

Anders smiles. “We’ll see, but at this rate, I definitely think we’ll start healing by the end of the year.”

_‘By the end of the year’_ makes Karl’s heart flutter unexpectedly. Though Anders has been staying with his family for almost half a year, the thought that Anders might one day leave him— _them_ —has always sat in the back of Karl’s mind. Hearing Anders so casually affirm that he plans on staying warms his heart.

Anders moves to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around Karl’s waist and resting his chin on his left shoulder. The contact is nice, feeling the length of Anders’ tall body pressed against his own.

“How about another deal, hm?” Anders says, his breath huffing right in Karl’s ear and throwing off his spell again and sending a dozen stones cascading to the floor. His arms tighten around Karl while he tucks his face in to nuzzle Karl’s neck. “Like before.”

Karl hums. “I’m listening.”

“Alright, if you do this spell correctly ten times in a row,” Anders says in a low, using one arm to gesture to the sack of grain that Karl tore open with a haphazardly aimed stonefist, “I’ll suck you off.”

Karl jerks out of the other mage’s embrace to stare owlishly at him, slack-jawed, for a long moment before it sinks in completely. He feels heat rush to his face, blushing harder than ever and his mind becoming quickly flustered. “W-What?”

Anders blinks at him before bursting out into laughter, one arm curling around his hurting stomach while the other points at him.

“D-don’t joke about that!” Karl stammers, turning his head in a half-hearted attempt to hide his burning face.

Anders hasn’t stopped laughing, only shakes his head as he struggles to speak. “You— you— your face! You just turned the brightest shade of red! It’s a-dor-a-ble.”

“Anders, _please!_ ”

“I’m sorry!” Karl frowns as Anders attempts to get himself under control. When he finally settles, Anders lowers his eyes and flashes him a sly smile. “... But I wasn’t joking.”

“Oh? _Oh_... well—I mean... I see,” Karl struggles to reply, knowing that the heat in his cheeks isn’t about to go away anytime soon. He thinks about Anders, on his knees with his lips wrapped around his cock, and just how glorious that might be.

He feels his cock stir and Karl puts a stop to those rather enticing thoughts before he makes a fool of himself. He nervously clears his throat. “Then I accept that offer.”

“Excellent.”

Though he devotes all of willpower to casting, Karl only gets to six times before the stonefist falls apart before meeting the target. His shoulders droop in defeat, turning a little to see Anders similarly disappointed from the corner of his eye.

“Can I try again?”

Anders gives him a bawdy half-smile. “As many times as you need.”

Finally, Karl reaches spell number nine, preparing himself to cast the last and final one. He feels the pressure, both from himself and radiating from Anders, who watches him with bated breath from a few steps behind. Gathering all his confidence— _‘nine,’_ he reminds himself, _‘you’ve done this nine times already, you can do one more!’_ —Karl squares up to his target.

Focusing harder than ever before, he feels magic flowing to his fingertips, gathering in the incorporeal space around his hand. Gathered pebbles begin shaking on the floor before flying up to gather into a shape that looks vaguely like a fist. He steadies himself, aiming toward the target before unleashing the force spell.

The ball of rock soars across the loft, hitting the target and shattering into pieces.

Karl sighs in relief before smiling, turning to face Anders proudly. 

The other mage stalks toward him, a sly smile forming on his lips. Fingers wrap around Karl’s hips, bringing their bodies together as Anders leans in, practically purring in his ear.

“Well, well,” Anders says, his voice hot and breathy against his ear and neck. “You did it.”

Karl swallows, getting a little lost in all the places where their bodies are touching. “Yeah,” he starts shakily. “I did, didn’t I?”

Chuckling, Anders releases him and pushes him toward the pile of hay he was previously lounging on. Karl allows himself to be guided, plopping down onto the straw obediently.

Anders drops to his knees between Karl’s eagerly spread legs, leaning up to kiss him deeply while sliding his hands up the inside of Karl’s thighs. They wiggle and tease, brushing ever so closer to Karl’s hardening cock but never quite touching yet. Anders lips move ceaselessly against his own, sucking and licking his way into Karl’s mouth.

When Anders pulls away, Karl is left entranced. He gulps, watching Anders’ every move like he was under some sort of spell that Karl is desperate to learn. 

Amber eyes catch his gaze, and Karl looks up to see Anders smiling at him like the cat that got the cream. Anders’ wandering fingers find their goal, lightly skimming over the fabric covering Karl’s growing bulge. Hips bucking involuntarily, Karl desperately wants to be touched by those hands—and that mouth, just as Anders promised.

Anders kisses him again while unlacing Karl’s trousers, his body-warmed fingers wrapping around his cock and drawing it out. Of all the times he’s featured Anders in his fantasies, Karl is completely unprepared for just how good it feels to be touched by him.

Karl is almost too aroused to feel self-conscious. _Almost._ This is the first time someone else has actually touched his cock as their previous few times in bed together were frantic and hushed, rubbing against each other through their sleep clothes and moaning with pleasure into each others mouths.

Breaking their string of deep and devouring kisses, Anders’ attention turns to his cock— _‘wait, did he just lick his lips?’_ Karl tenses in anticipation, but can’t take his eyes off Anders.

After quickly rearranging himself on the floor, Anders wraps his fingers firmly around the base of his cock. He leans in, ghosting his lips over his cock but not quite touching it just yet. Karl lets out a slight needy whine, but Anders only hushes him and continues his teasing crusade. He kisses a line from Karl’s navel to the base before nibbling on the tender skin of his inner thighs.

“ _Anders,_ ” Karl breathes, but is struck silent by the vision of Anders’ eyes meeting his while licking the seam of his balls.

“Patience,” Anders says between playful nips and nibbles. “I want this to be good.”

_‘It already is,’_ Karl thinks, wondering just how high Anders’ standards are. Anders laughs, making him realize he accidentally said that aloud.

Using his encircled fingers, Anders strokes his length a few times before licking the tip playfully. His tongue is pink and feels so good as it teases the slit, lapping up the precome that gathered there.

Karl whimpers when he first feels the hot, wet heat of Anders’ mouth encircle his cock. With one hand braced against Karl’s thigh and the other around the base, Anders begins to bob his head slowly. His mouth takes him in, sliding lower inch by inch every time.

Soon his cock is wet, glistening with saliva that helps to ease Anders’ mouth further down his shaft. Karl has to resist the urge to buck his hips, to thrust into the mouth that feels like nothing he’s ever experienced. Anders uses his hand, stroking his fist up to meet his lips.

While catching his breath, Anders lets his tongue lazily swirl around the tip while he flashes Karl a lopsided smile.

“Please don’t tease,” Karl huffs, though he knows he has no place to make demands here.

“Who said this was teasing?” Anders counters, but the way his smile widens is contrary to his words. “Doesn’t this feel good?”

It feels incredible, but Karl doesn’t get a chance to respond before Anders takes him into his mouth again. His body is alight with the sensations, caught between the wet heat of Anders’ mouth and the tingling of Anders’ nails slowly raking down his thigh. Karl’s legs spread further apart subconsciously, and Anders takes advantage by reaching between them to gently caress his balls.

“An—Anders!” Karl gasps, feeling all the tension in his body coil tightly and heat bubble deep beneath his stomach. He’s trying to warn Anders that he’s close to coming, to give him a chance to pull off.

Anders hums, his throat vibrating around his cock and it nearly drives Karl to the edge.

“I’m—I’m about to…” Karl says, his fists grasping at loose strands of hay in an effort to hold on. It doesn’t do much to help, as the hot convulsion of Anders swallowing around his cock pushes him over.

His eyes widen in surprise when Anders sinks his mouth down as far as he can go, just as Karl comes. His toes curl in his boots as he shoots down Anders’ throat, swearing loudly and incapable of caring if anyone is around to hear.

As he comes down from his orgasm, Anders pulls his mouth off with a pop. He rises to smirk at him, wiping the corner of his mouth while looking damn proud of himself. Overcome with emotions, Karl grabs him by the collar and pulls, crashing their lips together. The unfamiliar but discernible taste of his own come is on Anders’ lips, in his mouth, but Karl ignores it in favor of giving him a dozen appreciative kisses.

“That good, hm?” Anders asks, sounding tired but clearly still basking in all the attention.

“Mhm,” Karl replies, smiling and holding Anders close so that they’re chest to chest, laying in the hay. He thinks for a few moments, looking at the handsome man who smiles lazily back at him. “May I repay the favor?”

“That wasn’t a favor. You _earned_ that, remember?” Anders replies with a wink. “But who am I to refuse someone who asked so politely?”


	10. Chapter 10

Gone is the snow and the biting cold of Ferelden’s winter. The muddy puddles in the fields are a welcomed sight, signalling that it was over and the Thekla family made it through yet another winter season. With the way that the wildflowers are already blooming in full, the rest of the year already looks promising.

“Ouch!” Karl says, jumping a little where he stands in the center of the kitchen one early morning. He dons his nicest set of clothes, the ones reserved only for special outings that come rarely more than once or twice a year. His embroidered doublet is slightly too small and his trousers too short, but his mother left excess fabric hidden in the seams to account for his inevitable growth. “Aggie, that hurt.”

“‘M sorry,” his sister replies, her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration as she re-pins the hem of Karl’s pants.

“That wouldn’t happen if you didn’t move so much, dear,” his mother says, carefully ripping the side of his vest with a small knife and marking out where the new seam should go. “Stay still.”

Karl isn’t a fan of standing in one place for so long, nor being repeatedly poked with a needle. But Wintersend happens only once a year, and he’d be damned if he missed out on living like a normal non-apostate for just a day. There’ll be music and theatre to celebrate the end of winter, as well as decent ale and incredible food. The latter is what he looks forward to the most, as he feels his stomach already rumbling in anticipation of tasting Mrs. Sonnenfeld’s amazing fruit desserts.

The front door swings open and Karl’s father strides in with an axe in hand. Anders is only a few steps behind him, carrying chopped firewood in his arms. He immediately takes it across the kitchen and deposits it neatly next to the stove, currently lit with fire and filling the air with the light scent of Mother’s famous roast ram.

“Grow out of your old clothes already?” Anders asks, coming to stand before Karl and grinning while he looks him up and down again. “You don’t look any taller than you did yesterday.”

“These are my nice clothes,” Karl replies flatly. “For the festival.”

Anders frowns. “What festival?”

“Wintersend,” Karl’s mother replies after taking the last pin from where she held it carefully between her teeth. “Did I not mention it before? Surely I did. It’s tonight, honey, so go bathe and then we’ll get you outfitted in your new clothes too.”

She shoos Anders off to their bedroom, telling him that she’s spent the past few days sewing him something special.

“Ouch!” Karl exclaims again, this time looking down at his little sister who smiles while continues to slowly but surely mark out a hem in pins. He groans inwardly, wondering if she’s starting to do it on purpose.

The early afternoon is spent preparing for the evening. Karl and Aggie sit and stitch both Karl’s and Anders’ clothes to the appropriate size, while his mother and Anders finish up the cooking and his father readies the horse and cart.

Finally, about half-past four, they begin their walk toward the village. Karl walks beside Anders, who walks beside Rosie pulling the cart that is full of their food offerings and things Father would like to trade if there’s an opportunity. Everyone is wearing their best, avoiding the occasional muddy spots on the road as they pass through the countryside.

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but why am I going?” Anders says curiously, breaking the peaceful quiet of the journey thus far. “To the festival, I mean.”

“Well, we very well couldn’t leave you at the house alone, now could we?” Mother replies cheerfully, giving him the warm smile that often graces her lips. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“But I wasn’t permitted to go to the market before,” Anders says, pursing his lips at her response. “Wouldn’t a festival be too risky? Whatever happened to _‘people will talk’?_ ”

“Watch your tone, son,” Father warns him, keeping his eyes ahead to keep a lookout for others along the road. “Camila and I spoke about it—at length, I might add—and we decided you should attend.”

“You’re part of the family now, Anders,” Mother says, reaching to hook her arm around Anders’ shoulders and pulling him in while they walked. “And it’s only proper that we treat you as such. That being said, clearly we can’t be related by blood.”

“So you will be the son of my long-time friend, who has more recently passed and his dying wish was for us to care for you. Completely fictitious, but it’ll work,” Father continues. “Congratulations, Anders, you’re from Amaranthine, your last remaining parent recently died due to an unknown illness, and you’ve been with us since Frumentum.”

“The last of which is not actually a lie,” Mother adds, giving Anders’ shoulder a squeeze before letting him go.

“Why isn’t Anders from the Anderfels?” Aggie asks from where she sits in the cart, still small enough to ride on it without being a burden on Rosie.

It’s true. It would be more fitting for Anders to be from the Anderfels. He has some Ander features as well—that sharp nose and high cheekbones—so it wouldn’t be a far stretch. Though they’ve grown ever so close, Karl hasn’t gotten very far in learning much about Anders’ life before the Circle. All he truly knows is that he prefers Anders even though it isn’t his given name, and that he was born in Ferelden.

“That would be a little too obvious, sweetheart. Besides,” she replies, turning to speak to Anders, “have you ever been to the Anderfels, dear?”

He shakes his head. “No, ma’am.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Karl interrupts, trying to keep the frustration in his voice to a minimum. This whole plan his parents have cooked up could have easily been overturned had they not known about it. Quite frankly, it could have been a disaster.

“Fair question, but patience, Karl,” Father replies. “We were planning on telling you two and Agatha closer to Crestwood, so it’s fresh in everyone’s minds.”

“We were still trying to figure out just how you got here from all the way from Amaranthine by yourself.”

“I’m old enough to travel by myself,” Anders says, trying to offset his wounded ego with a one-shouldered shrug. He was alone, on the run for three whole days before they took him in. “I _did_ actually travel here alone, in any case.”

“Then we’ll go with that,” Father says, nodding. “Seems simple enough. Agatha?”

“Yes, papa?”

“Can you keep this secret?”

“For Anders?” she asks, lips widening into a bright smile. “I’d do anything.”

Karl snorts at her blatant favoritism for the newest member of the household. It’s not that they hate each other—Maker, they even get along quite well despite their large difference in age, but Aggie is nothing but angelic and adoring when it comes to Anders.

His father chuckles. “Good.”

When they arrive, the festival has only just begun. The majority of the stalls and events are set up in Crestwood’s market square, where most of the festival-goers are gathered. There’s a large bonfire in the center, carefully surrounded by rocks to keep it contained. Most, if not all, the citizens of Crestwood and its surrounding countryside are present at one of the more popular holidays of the year. 

Aggie is immediately drawn to the collection of children her age, running off to play with them as soon as she gains parental approval. Father heaves the crate containing what he’s brought to trade and perches it on his hip while he takes the basket with their feast contribution with his other hand, heading toward the stands on the other side of the square. Mother takes Anders by the arm, guiding him toward a small crowd of villagers.

“Come now, dear,” she says to Anders, who flashes Karl a secret nervous look over his shoulder as he’s forcibly led away. “It’s time to introduce you to everyone!”

As always, Karl is left to deal with the horse and cart. He doesn’t mind, not really, as it gives him time to ease into the fray of the festival. Horses and carts are placed in the Featherbys’ fenced field, specifically set aside for this purpose today. Rosie seems happy to be able to graze, moving a little faster than Karl has seen in a long time toward a nice lush spot. He puts the cart near the others, checking to see if it’s empty before heading back to the square.

He says his hellos to the villagers who recognize him, sharing small talk with people who have known him since he was _‘was this small.’_ Across the square, he sees his mother introduce Anders to yet another family who Karl can’t quite remember their surname. She beams, proud to show Anders off to the friends and neighbors she’s put so much effort into keeping in touch with. She writes letters to them at least once a month, a feat that Karl could never make himself do, even if he tried.

Anders, on the other hand, looks a little uncomfortable and restless during the exchange. Karl wants to laugh, but it would be cruel to an extent, since he’s been in that position for many years. He decides against going to try to rescue him, knowing his mother would just drag him into the conversation instead. 

He appreciates the work she’s doing to solidify the lie, though, flawlessly getting everyone to play into their farce. An incredible woman, she is.

Loading up a plate with his favorite food—a little of this, a little of that, a _lot_ of Mrs. Sonnenfeld’s cinnamon apple cobbler—Karl finds a quiet alcove with a few chairs tucked into it. He can still see the square’s giant bonfire, blazing brighter now that the night has grown darker, but is comfortably far enough from the main events.

“Is this seat taken?” Anders asks, finally appearing at Karl’s side with a plate in one hand and two tankards in the other. He sits beside Karl, handing him one of the tankards. In the dim lighting, Karl can’t quite tell what is in it, but smiles when he tastes the bitterness of ale.

_‘Maker bless Anders.’_

“How was meeting every citizen of Crestwood?” he asks after a few moments of eating.

“Truly exhausting, but it made your mother happy and people seemed to believe it.”

“That’s good.”

Anders chuckles. “I’ve also never received so much sympathy for my imaginary dead father.”

“Truly a shame,” Karl says dryly, feigning a recollection of nostalgic memories and raising his tankard in a faux honorary toast. “He was a great man, Serah What’s-His-Face. May he forever rest peacefully at the Maker’s bosom.”

Humming in agreement, Anders continues to eat his meal with appreciative noises. Sitting shoulder to shoulder on the bench, Karl steals several glances in Anders’ direction. The warm light from the huge bonfire plays off his features, making his skin glow in an almost ethereal way. His hair glints gold and Karl fights to urge to run his fingers through it in the way that makes Anders wriggle and gasp. 

Ever since knowing him, Anders never fails to take Karl’s breath away.

“Didn’t see any of that left,” Anders says, bringing Karl out of his thoughts.

“What?”

Anders points his fork toward Karl’s plate, to the apple cobbler he’s been looking forward to tasting for so long. “That.”

“I took double helpings—”

“So sneaky,” Anders interjects with a smirk.

Karl rolls his eyes but smiles. “—so we can share.”

And that’s how Karl found himself sitting pressed against Anders’ side, hand-feeding him the sweet dessert. They share every other bite, with Karl absolutely entranced with how Anders’ lips close around the fork and how he savors the flavor. It’s intimate, erotic even, and Karl feels himself blushing to the tips of his ears. He thanks the Maker that they’re not sitting somewhere easily seen by passersby and that the table obscures the view of his hardening cock pressing up against his trousers.

They chase the delicious treat with the rest of their ale, talking quietly as they observe the market square from a distance. The people look small from here, but Karl can still pick out his mother and father chatting while finishing their feast plates and the group of children where Aggie must be.

Karl feels his body warm and his mind begin to fuzz as the ale starts to hit hard. He hasn’t developed much of a tolerance for alcohol, only indulging in his father’s whiskey when offered on certain occasions. It was a large tankard that Anders got his hands on, for which he is thankful.

Anders looks equally as inebriated, his face flushed red as an easy smile rests on his lips. Karl glances around, seeing people nearby but not too close. He could kiss Anders now—and by Andraste, how desperately he wants to—and it’s likely that no one would notice. Starting to lean in, Karl has to brace a hand on the bench to keep himself on course.

“Would you— _woah!_ ” Anders says, startled when he turns to see Karl’s face so close to him.

Karl wrenches away, feeling a tinge of guilt and embarrassment for being caught doing something so foolish. “’M sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be,” Anders replies with a smile, leaning forward to give Karl a quick peck on the lips. “I was just wondering if you’d like to dance with me?”

“Dance?”

Anders points toward the market square, where the bard and her group has started playing a lively tune and a few couples have started dancing together around the bonfire.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Karl replies with a shrug. Plus he’s not sure how graceful he’ll be on his feet after that much ale. But at least Anders had the same amount.

“Neither do I, but it doesn’t look difficult. I hold onto you, you hold onto me, and we prance around?”

“Well, when you put it that way—”

Karl can’t get another word in before he finds himself being grabbed by the hand and hauled up to his feet. Fingers threaded together, Anders grins at him in excitement as he pulls Karl toward the music.

They make their way up to the market square, other couples breezing by as they dance around the bonfire to the upbeat music. Many others have gathered around to watch, either contemplating on joining themselves or simply enjoying the spectacle. 

Karl feels nervous, seeing how many eyes would be watching them. “Are you sure—”

“Come on!” Anders exclaims, pulling Karl into the dance area by the wrist.

They stumble out into the clearing, quickly taking a step to avoid a dancing couple’s path. Karl stands there frozen, feeling useless as others whisk past them. Anders guides one of Karl’s hands to his waist, mirroring the same action himself before grasping his other hand.

Karl lets himself be led, both starting to move in the direction of the circular flow around the bonfire. They quickly fall into step with other dancers, somewhere between a dash and a skip, or more accurately ‘prancing’ as Anders described it earlier. The bright, cheerful music makes it easy, feeling the rhythm that’s easy to keep up with.

Anders smiles and laughs, looking absolutely elated now that they’ve joined the festivities. His amber eyes twinkle in the firelight, capturing Karl’s attention and holding his gaze. Anders guides him in a spin, both of them turning in a complete circle—a move that others seem to do with ease. Karl trips over Anders’ foot and they both nearly topple over, righting themselves as soon as possible. They grasp hold of each other tighter, clinging to each other for balance and stability as they give it another go.

Neither of them can keep their eyes off each other, not that Karl would ever want to. Happiness is a good look on Anders, smiling so warmly at him that he feels it in his chest. Karl loves Anders, he loves him so much that he can feel it ache in his heart. At this very moment, he wants to tell him— _needs_ to tell him—but realizes that the middle of the square isn’t the place, even if Anders could hear him over the cacophony of music and chatter around them.

Several songs later, they grow tired and agree that it’s time to stop, at least for a little while. Laughing like giddy children, they stumble back through the crowd of observers, hands laced together while they go search for more ale. They don’t get very far, distracting each other with drunken kisses when no one is looking.

Anders has him pressed to the side of a shed, mouth open against his as he kisses Karl like a man on the verge of starvation. Karl feels the alcohol rushing through his system, making his movements clumsy and his kisses graceless but Anders doesn’t seem to mind.

“What about, ah—” Karl says between kisses, savoring the warmth of Anders’ against his body and the alcohol beneath his skin. It’s addicting and something in him wants this moment to last. “Wh-what about the ale?”

“Fuck ale,” Anders says breathlessly, moving to sloppily suck a mark on Karl’s neck. The mark will be visible, and anyone who looks at him will be able to tell what he’s been up to, but Karl can’t find it in him to care. “I’d rather just drink you.”

Karl chuckles, letting his hand skim down Anders’ side, coming to rest on the swell of his arse and giving it a squeeze. Anders responds favorably, his hips bucking against Karl’s. “Now who’s the cheesy one?”

“I never said I wasn’t,” Anders replies, biting at the joint of Karl’s neck and shoulder hard enough to make him yelp. “I only said you were.”

With nothing clever to retort with, Karl instead grabs Anders’ hips and spins them around, slamming Anders back against the side of the shed. The breath is knocked out of him, but Anders looks at Karl with a burning desire. He pulls Karl in by the collar for a scorchingly hot kiss, their bodies aligning all along the front.

Hands roam across each other’s clothes to touch, to feel, but they purposely strain to keep themselves from doing anything more than that. The last thing Karl needs is to be found with his hands down Anders’ pants, and Anders seems to have a similar thought. He’s not entirely sure what his parents would say about what’s happening between them, and he’d rather just avoid finding out in the meantime.

It doesn’t keep them from enjoying each other, moaning into each kiss and lightly grinding together. The feeling of Anders’ body pressed against his, the taste of his mouth so sweet from the dessert they shared not too long ago—it’s all too perfect. There is simply nothing better in all of Thedas, Karl decides.

“Anders,” Karl says, groaning softly as Anders teases his upper lip between his teeth. He feels completely overcome by his feelings, unable to think of anything other than the swell of his heart and the swell of Anders’ rear. “ _Anders._ ”

“Is it important?” Anders asks, continuing to kiss and nibble like the tease he’s proven himself to be. “Because I think your mouth could be doing something better than talking.”

Karl shakes his head, regretting it instantly since it makes the world around him spin. When the words come out, they’re barely above a whisper. “I—I love you.”

Anders stills instantly in his arms, ceasing the kisses he was peppering along Karl’s jawline. For a moment, Karl feels a tidal wave of panic wash over him. Oh Maker, did he do something wrong?

_Fuck!_

“You don’t mean that,” Anders replies, quietly.

Frowning, Karl moves his hands to Anders’ shoulders to gently push him back until he can see his face. When he opens his mouth to speak, to question, Anders puts a finger up to his kiss-swollen lips.

“Hush,” Anders says, leaning in to kiss the sturdy column of Karl’s neck. “Let’s just enjoy this, shall we?”

Karl makes a muffled questioning noise, wondering what this all means. He just bared his feelings to him, why would Anders refute it? These troubled thoughts begin to swirl like dark clouds that precede a storm, but Anders makes it his personal mission to kiss all coherent thought from his brain.

It must be close to midnight when they start walking home. Everyone is tired but happy, full of good food and basking in the afterglow of such a wonderful time. Aggie is already asleep, resting her head on Father’s shoulder as he carries her home on his back. He, his mother, and Karl each hold a lantern, lighting the path home as they walk beside Rosie and the cart.

“Karrrlll—” Anders says in a slurred, sing-song voice while he looks pointedly toward him. They’re both still clearly drunk, though Karl is sobering up a little faster. Father didn’t blink when he saw their condition back in Crestwood, only hiding a chuckle when Karl nearly tripped on his own two feet. “I’m tired too. Carry me?”

Karl rolls his eyes. “No.”

“Please?” Anders says, tossing his arm around Karl’s shoulder and accidentally smacking him in the face. “You’re so _strong—_ ”

“Don’t be daft.”

“—I’m sure you could do it, Serah Strong-Man.”

Karl sighs to hide his smile, stopping in his tracks and bending his knees a little. Anders stares at him, a grin bursting forth when Karl finally motions for him to climb on. Anders scrambles forth, long limbs tangling around Karl’s shoulders and waist. Anders is lighter than Karl thought, which half of him is thankful for while the other half is a little concerned.

By the time they get back to the farm, Anders is snoring softly and drooling on Karl’s shoulder. It would be cute if it weren’t also a little gross. He bids both of his parents a good night before disappearing into their shared bedroom. He opens the door and Lady darts out between his legs, the feline barely sparing them a second glance as she goes to explore after being locked in the room for so long.

He deposits Anders on the bed, letting him fall back onto the mattress. The jostling wakes Anders, stretching like a cat waking up from a lazy nap. Karl quickly sets the lantern on the side table before trying to step back to undress, but Anders captures the edge of his vest and pulls. Karl is careful to brace both hands on both sides of Anders’ head and a knee between his legs, drawing in close to give the kiss Anders has been silently demanding.

It’s sweet and warm, softer than the way they devoured each other earlier. Their eyes flutter open when they draw apart, gazing at each other as that familiar warmth floods Karl’s chest.

“I love you,” Karl tries again, quickly adding, “I really do.”

Anders frowns. “No—”

“I love you, Anders,” Karl says again, with what he hopes sounds like conviction. Anders looks up at him, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and doubt. His reaction is downright puzzling. “Why don’t you believe me?”

Anders heaves out a heavy sigh, reaching up to place his hands flat against Karl’s chest. He pushes gently, and Karl moves beside him to give him some space. They lay together with their legs hanging off the edge of the bed, Karl curling up on his side to see Anders’ face clearly.

“When I was in the Circle,” Anders begins, keeping his voice low enough that no one could hear them in the otherwise silent house. He pauses, like speaking about it causes him heartache. “Love was only a game. It gave templars too much power if there was something you couldn’t stand to lose.”

Karl stays silent, assuring Anders that he’s listening and urging him to continue.

“No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love. Eventually it starts to feel like some distant concept, something you know happens to everyone except you. After enough time passes, you start believing that you don’t deserve it.”

Anders turns to his side to mirror Karl, resting his head on his arm.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it since you said it, but it’s just taking me some time to believe I’m allowed to have that.”

Karl is speechless, his mind racing through what Anders has just revealed to him and trying to think of something comforting to say. Saying those three words again doesn’t seem like it would do anything to help in this situation, as bad as he’d like to say them. 

Something in Karl’s heart breaks a little. Anders thinks he doesn’t deserve love, when really he deserves the world.

They dress for bed in silence, turned away from each other. Karl keeps his head hung low, keeping his eyes purposefully trained on the floor. There’s a bigger space between them when they settle beneath the sheets, with Anders moving toward the wall like he used to before they were together. Karl feels wide awake, and by the sound of Anders’ shallow breaths, so is he.

Ten minutes pass, then twenty. Karl hasn’t even moved to extinguish the lantern, content to just let it burn and eventually run out of fuel. He’s not quite sure how to feel, 

Then Anders says something, almost too quiet to hear. Karl hums, straining to hear, but Anders turns over unexpectedly.

“I…” His voice trails off, clearing his throat. “I love you, too.”

Karl clenches his eyes shut, nearly wincing in a pain unseen. “ _Don’t…_ Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

He feels warm fingers trace along the side of his face, coming to softly cradle his cheek and coaxing his eyes open. Anders comes into view, looking at him with the most gentle expression.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Anders begins, sounding so unsure of himself that Karl just wants him to stop. “You’re the most important person in my life, and you mean the world to me.”

The declaration puts Karl at ease, but only a little, as he braces himself for the inevitable rejection.

“I would give it—give _this_ —” he amends, waving vaguely to the room around them, “—all up for you. I couldn’t imagine a future as a free mage without you in it. And I’m starting to realize that this feeling… it’s love. I wasn’t sure at first, but I hadn’t needed to think about it before. Or didn’t want to, in any case.”

Karl is stunned, heart beating a thrilled tempo against his ribs. Anders kisses him, so chaste compared to earlier, but with more meaning behind it than ever before. Arms find their way around each other, pulling until they’re pressed together from head to toe.

“I love you.”

And Karl’s heart soars.


	11. Chapter 11

Karl sits at the kitchen table with a small package in his lap. He unties the twine holding the box shut, opening it to reveal a new pair of boots. They’re brown leather, with laces up to mid-half and a sturdy sole—almost exactly like his current pair, but new without any worn spots or holes glued shut.

He smiles, thanking his parents for the generous yet practical gift.

“Ah, my sweet little boy,” Mother says, putting her arms around his shoulders and placing a motherly kiss on the crown of his head. “I can’t believe you’re another year older! It feels like only yesterday that you were _this small_ —” she holds her hand at a level just above mid-thigh “—and you trailed after me wherever I went.”

“Mother—” Karl says, rolling his eyes while Anders tries to hold back laughter.

But she doesn’t heed his plea, only noticing Anders’ reaction and feeling spurred to continue. “It’s true! He’d never leave me be, we were starting to worry if he’d ever grow out of it! But, at least we never had to worry about losing him.”

“I’m _right here._ ”

“Never had to worry about him getting into trouble, since we always knew that wherever I was, Karl was nearby!”

“Please!” Karl exclaims, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. He looks toward his father for help, but the man only hides his smile behind the rim of his drink.

“Oh relax, dear,” his mother says, motioning for the other three to start cleaning dishes. “I’m your mother, and I’m allowed to embarrass my son every now and then. Besides, you’re red as a beet and it’s adorable.”

“It’s true, you know,” Anders chimes, stacking the plates to take to the sink. “Red is a good color on you, though blue would match your eyes.”

“People only turn blue if they’re cold,” Aggie says, delighted to add something to the conversation.

“That is true,” Father says to appease his daughter, and that’s when Karl realizes he can’t trust anyone. _Betrayed,_ by his own family.

“Thanks,” Karl says without a hint of humor in his voice.

“I’ll save the rest of the pie for tomorrow, and you can have it for dessert,” his mother announces, wrapping the strawberry pie with a towel and storing it in the larder. 

As is tradition, Karl was practically given a day off from chores and farm-related responsibilities. He spent the majority of it reading a book he bought at the most recent market venture. It apparently sparked a controversy across the nation, as the main character is an apostate. When Karl heard that, he knew he had to shell out the coppers for it. It’s been intriguing thus far, but there’s at least a hundred pages left to go.

Karl is reading on their bed when Anders finally comes in, slipping into the room and is suspiciously careful to close the door quietly.

“Where have you been?” Karl asks, raising an eyebrow as Anders shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Making your nameday gift,” Anders replies. “Put your trousers on, we’re going out.”

“Out? Why is my gift outside?”

“You’ll see.”

Karl dresses and pulls his new boots on over his stockings. They dig into his ankle a little, but he knows he’ll break the leather in soon enough. They slink out of the room, carefully avoiding the house’s squeaky floorboards they’ve both memorized. Father would kill them if he knew they were sneaking out of the house, especially at night. Or _worse…_ his mother would be very disappointed.

He decides he’ll blame it all on Anders’ influence if they get caught, even though he knows he wouldn’t have the heart to actually do that. They’d take that hit together, if need be.

With their path lit only by a lantern, Karl silently follows Anders across the property. The Ferelden countryside is always quiet, but even more so at this time of night. There isn’t a breeze to rustle through the leaves, nor the sounds of any animals scavenging for food nearby. 

They pass the barn where Rosie sleeps, out past the equipment shed and compost heap and take a familiar path. He falters in his step when he realizes they’re heading toward the fields.

“What could _possibly_ be out in the fields?” Karl asks.

“I told you: your nameday gift,” Anders replies simply over his shoulder, as if Karl had asked a pointless question.

Nervously glancing around to the dark landscape around them, Karl’s voice drops to a whisper. “What if there are wolves?”

“You and I both know that there haven’t been any wolves since I killed a bunch of them that one time.”

“ _Two._ You killed _two_ of them, not a ‘bunch.’”

“That’s more than one. Put two together and you can call that a ‘bunch of wolves,’” Anders counters, shrugging off Karl’s commentary. When they turn the corner leading to the furthest field, Anders turns on his heel and throws out his arms in bravado. “Happy nameday!”

“Huh?” Karl says before his eyes are drawn up over Anders’ shoulders toward the center of the field.

In the center of the field is a small hill, topped with a lone elm tree that Karl used to climb a lot when he was a child. He can see it clearly as dozens of tiny golden spell-wisps dance around it like summer fireflies, casting a warm light over the grassy spot. There’s a quilt spread over the ground, like a picnic but at midnight, as well as a small basket and a canteen of water.

“This is beautiful,” Karl says, stepping closer. The tiny spell-wisps twinkle around them, floating like dandelions in the breeze. When one flickers out, another wisp flickers into existence. He reaches out to touch one, but stops short from hesitation. 

When he looks over, Anders smiles at him. “They won’t hurt you.”

Karl lets his fingers brush through one, feeling nothing more than a small buzz of magical energy in the air. He goes to prod a few more, noticing there’s something about the magic that feels distinctly Anders…

Is that even possible?

Sitting cross-legged on the blanket, Anders pats the space beside him and waits for Karl to join him. His rear has barely touched the blanket before Anders is on him, crawling over him to straddle his thighs. It takes a moment for Karl’s brain and body to catch up, wrapping his arms around Anders’ waist and holding him tightly.

Anders brushes their mouths together, pressing kiss after kiss that lingers on Karl’s lips. There’s something about having Anders’ weight in his lap feels so right—just having him this close is inexplicably comforting and grounding, like he hadn’t realized just how much he needs Anders in his life, wants him in it forever.

“I love you,” Anders says between soft kisses, both hands cradling Karl’s face and his breath warm like sunshine across his skin. Karl’s heart flutters, knowing how big of a deal it is for him to say it. “So, so, so much.”

Karl captures one of Anders’ lips between his teeth, sucking and teasing it red. Anders moans softly, and if there’s one thing that Karl loves about him is just how responsive he can be. He can be quiet, nearly silent when they pleasure each other—most likely something he learned in the Circle—but it’s the way Anders shivers and bucks under Karl’s touch that he relishes most.

It’s Karl who makes an obscene noise when Anders shimmies forwards, deepening the kiss and grinding their hips together while writhing in his lap. Through their trousers, he can feel Anders’ hard length press against his, rousing a low-burning desire to build deep within. It’s not enough, never enough. He needs more, to touch and feel Anders, skin to skin with nothing separating their bodies and their hearts.

“Karl,” Anders mumbles against his neck, in a tone so needy it goes straight to Karl’s groin. He sounds breathless, circling Karl’s shoulders with his arms and folding himself in closer. “Want you.”

Karl blinks, unsure if he heard him correctly. “Hm?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant.

Pulling away, their eyes catch and Karl can see the heat, the pure desire in Anders’ eyes. Long slender fingers find their way under the hem of Karl’s tunic, pushing it up enough for Anders’ hand to lay flat against his abdomen.

“I want you,” Anders murmurs into his ear, this time with more certainty in his voice. He shakes his head with a smile, the stray strands of his ponytail shining gold in the light of the wisps. He traces a finger down from Karl’s stomach to his groin, flashing him a knowing look.

Karl looks at him—really, truly looks at him. Anders stumbled into his life one night, sopping wet and frightened and exhausted to the bone, but the man in his arms now shines more radiantly than ever. He’s beautiful, wants him, _loves_ him, and it’s more than Karl could have ever hoped for.

Looking him over, Karl can’t help but to admire how the light from the spell-wisps dances off his features and accents his already warm smile. He slides one hand up Anders’ back, his fingers tracing every knob of Anders’ spine through his tunic before tangling themselves in his hair. He gently pulls Anders’ hair free from its band, the gold strands falling about his shoulders as Karl threads his fingers through it.

“Yes,” Karl says, his voice low and hoarse and laced with desire when he finally answers. He clears his throat and repeats it again, for good measure. “ _Yes._ ”

The gravity of the situation washes over them, and the air becomes heavy with _want, need, love._ Anders tucks his other hand beneath Karl’s tunic, sliding them both up the slant of his chest and dragging it over his shoulders. Karl raises his arms, letting him pull it over his head and toss it aside.

Anders’ eyes widen at the newly exposed skin, eyes wandering along the lines his fingertips make. Staying still and silent as death, Karl watches Anders as he traces his collarbones, the curve of his shoulders and the hills and valleys of his abdomen. When hands settle on the front of his trousers, Karl quickly grabs Anders’ slender wrists, stopping their exploration.

Anders falters, amber eyes flicking up to meet Karl’s in question.

“You next.”

Anders’ expression softens, relieved, before sitting back on his haunches. There’s a pink hue dusting across his cheeks and an almost bashful smile growing on his lips. Their eyes hold feverently, broken only by the brisk moment that the tunic slides over his head.

Karl’s eyes are immediately drawn to Anders’ chest, now filled out and more toned than he was when they first met. He remembers it like it was yesterday—a bony, underfed, shivering boy so physically and mentally affected by the lack of regular exercise and proper meals. Farm life, as hard as it may be, has been good for Anders.

_Freedom_ has been good for Anders.

And Karl would give anything to see how a lifetime of freedom would look on him.

But there are still plenty of reminders that freedom is what has been taken from Anders. He trails his fingers over the sharp points of his collarbones, following the line down to a scar on his abdomen. Anders’ scars are not unfamiliar to Karl—he’s seen them while changing and bathing—but this is the first time he’s seen them up close, the first time he’s allowed to touch them. The scar looks deep, like it was serious at the time.

Anders doesn’t have too many scars, but far too many for a mage who has the ability to heal. Karl frowns. Why does Anders have these? He almost wants to ask, but knows this is neither the time nor the place.

Now free of their tunics, Anders climbs back into Karl’s lap and cants their hips together. The way that Anders kisses him is like a ravenous man—sucking and licking into his mouth with an insatiable hunger. Karl has to fight the haze of sweet contentment that threatens to fill his mind, keeping his wits gathered as he gently lays them both down on the blanket—lips not losing each other once during the fall.

Their hips grind together, but soon their trousers become too big of an obstacle, too big of a frustrating barrier. It doesn’t take long for them to wriggle out of their trousers and smalls, kicking them somewhere they’ll no longer be a hinderance.

And in a breathtaking moment, they both realize they’re both completely naked under the starry sky. Anders’ wisps still dance around them, and it comes to Karl’s attention that the other mage’s magic must be at work, keeping them as warm as they are on this early-summer night.

Karl takes them both in hand, encircling his fingers around both of their lengths. The deliriously needy noise that escapes Anders’ lips makes Karl’s skin prickle, and he finds himself so desperately wanting to hear it again. Their hips roll together, the clumsy movement keeping them from kissing like they had before. Anders thrusts into his grip, cock rubbing against cock in a dry, hot friction that is both arousing and slightly chafing.

_‘Spit, needs spit,’_ Karl thinks, but Anders has other plans.

“Karl,” Anders gasps, his rutting growing more frenzied as he chases his own pleasure for a few moments. Then he stills, his whole body droops like a sigh, leaning his weight on Karl as he whispers into his ear. “I need… _I need_ —”

“Tell me,” Karl says when Anders seems to lose track of his thoughts, idly rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slits of both their cocks, still hot and heavy in his hand. “Tell me what you need.”

Anders noses at Karl’s neck, burying his face against his collarbone and taking a deep shuddering inhale. “Need you inside me, more than anything. Karl, please… please fuck me.”

And with such a request, there was no way Karl could refuse.

“Anything you want, I’ll give it to you,” Karl replies, turning his head to press a brief but tender kiss on Anders’ temple. “ _Anything._ ”

It’s the absolute truth.

Placing his palms to Karl’s chest, Anders nudges him until he’s lying flat against the blanket. Karl can’t keep himself still, propping himself up on his elbows to watch Anders’ every move. He’s thankful for how Anders seems to be taking the lead, since he doesn’t know much more than the theory of what they’re doing.

With a flash of green and a flick of his wrist, Anders’s fingers are covered with a sheen of clear grease. Karl blinks several times at what may possibly be one of the most useful spells he’s ever witnessed. He must be wearing quite the expression, as Anders lets out a full-bellied laugh at him.

“You look like I’ve just shown you Andraste’s ashes,” Anders says, still smiling as he pecks Karl’s cheek affectionately. “I’ll teach you that one soon, I promise.”

“Sure hope so,” Karl returns playfully.

“That’s for you,” Anders says, slathering Karl’s hand with the slippery substance. He casts the spell again, more grease covering his wiggling fingers. “And this is for me.”

Anders hovers above him, creamy slender thighs splayed over Karl’s hips and his hard cock standing at attention. He brings his oiled hand behind him, out of sight, but Karl can just picture those long slender fingers teasing between two perfect cheeks. Eyes sliding closed, he skillfully works himself open, breathy moans and heated gasps escaping his lips as he sinks his fingers in further.

Karl’s hand finds its way to his cock, encircling his fingers around the base and running them along the length. He’s fully hard after having Anders grind against him, pressing hungry kisses with hot tongue to his lips while rutting together. Soon his cock is slick, fingers gliding effortlessly as he works himself over, like he has so many times before.

His eyes flick up to Anders, getting caught on the captivating scene unfolding before him. Miles of Anders’ skin fills his vision, pale and freckled but glowing in the light of the wisps that float around them. Beyond him is the sky, dark and endless but littered with stars.

He looks soft, serene and ethereal. 

Karl’s heart catches in his throat, his gaze not leaving Anders’ form for even a moment. He wants nothing more than to touch Anders, to show his admiration and love with more than just whispered words and silent promises.

Something in Anders’ expression changes and his eyes open, vibrant like sunlight filtering through amber. He smiles, leaning forward to brace his hands on both sides of Karl’s head as he dips to kiss him, tongues entwining together passionately. Karl’s whole body tingles from his lips to his toes, filling with warmth and a yearning so strong it overcomes him.

“You ready?” Anders asks, voice breathy and aroused, to which Karl can only nod. With one hand, Anders lines himself up with his cock, long legs straining as he slowly lowers himself down.

Karl groans as he finds his cock enveloped in a tight, wet heat. As Anders sinks further, Karl’s fingers grasp at his hips and thighs, grasping for something to hold onto. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, better all the lazy afternoons and hushed nights they’ve spent with hands and mouths on each other.

“ _Hng—_ ” A soft moan spills from Anders’ lips when he bottoms out, his ass becoming flush with Karl’s hips. His eyes have fluttered closed again, pausing for a minute as Karl struggles to stay still beneath him. His expression changes to one of concentration as he begins to roll his hips.

The feeling along the length of Karl’s cock is nothing less than amazing. Every movement Anders makes sends lightning bolts up and down his spine, tingling electricity to every nerve in his body. But what _isn’t perfect_ is that he can’t reach Anders, doesn’t have enough of him to touch and hold. Anders might be on top of him, but he isn’t close enough.

Never close enough.

Karl reaches up to run his fingers along the sharp crest of Anders’ collarbone, tracing up the tense tendons of his neck to cup his jaw. Anders leans into his hand, grasping hold of his wrist to keep it there. He turns his head ever so slightly, pressing a kiss to the palm of Karl’s hand.

“Anders, wait,” he finally manages to say, voice coming out rough and deep. 

Anders stills, the rolls of his hips slowing to a stop as he turns his attention to Karl’s face. He’s stunned for a moment, gazing upon Anders in the light of the spell wisps that miraculously still dance around them. A sense of awe fills him, finding himself so deeply in love with the man who graced his life ever since the day he stepped foot in the barn.

Karl grabs Anders’ wrists, quickly rolling them over until Anders is below him, on his back.

“ _Oh,_ ” Anders says breathlessly, air forced out of his lungs. He stares up at Karl with beautiful eyes that widen in inquiry.

“Let me take care of you, love,” Karl says.

Instead of answering, Anders smiles and laces their fingers of both hands together, holding them tight.

Now that he has Anders beneath him, it strikes Karl that…

“I, uhm,” Karl says, faltering as he realizes he’s in over his head. He clenches his jaw together, cheeks growing pink over what he’s about to ask. “What should I do?”

Anders blinks. “... You wanted to be on top but you don’t know what you’re doing?”

His tone is a mixture between surprise and amusement. He’s clearly holding back a chuckle, which makes Karl’s cheeks burn all that much brighter. He shouldn’t feel so embarrassed.

“Y-yes!” Karl stutters out, utterly flustered at the situation he’s put himself in. “I want… I want to make you feel good.”

Oh Maker, that sounded so stupid. This was probably an awful idea. Why did he have to go and ruin things?

“Just touch me.” Anders squeezes his hands, smiling warmly at him. He leans up, prompting Karl to meet him halfway, kissing him so softly it lingers on his lips. “And move.”

At such simple instructions, Karl starts slowly thrusting into Anders’ wet heat. Though he’s never had the opportunity before, instincts partially take over, driving his hips in a more fluid motion. Anders’ body clenches around him, drawing a deep river of pleasure from Karl’s spine to his cock.

He falls into a rhythm, pushing into Anders to the base before pulling almost all the way out. He’s driven mad by the deliriously sweet noises Anders makes—little whines and sharp breaths that encourage him. Anders’ hair is splayed across the wool blanket beneath him, shimmering in the wisps’ light like spun gold. How was Karl so lucky to chance across such a handsome, dazzling man like this?

Anders’ eyes have drifted closed, his pink lips set in a pleasured smile opening to mumble, “You don’t have to be so gentle. I won’t break, you know.”

Karl slows, peering down at the man beneath him. He carefully unlaces their fingers, muscles stiff from holding hands so tight for so long. Anders seems reluctant to let go but eventually relents, frowning and closing his eyes tighter.

Cupping his jaw with each hand, Karl holds Anders’ face and silently coaxes him to open his eyes once more. Amber eyes slide open, unfocused for only a moment before settling on Karl who hovers above him.

“But I want to be gentle with you.”

_‘Because it feels like no one ever has.’_

Something changes then, in Anders’ expression and Karl’s heart. It’s no longer just about pleasure and fun, but giving each other their whole self beneath the stars and wisps. Karl would do anything for Anders, wants to crawl beneath his skin and stay there for an eternity. His soul is no longer his, but intertwined with Anders in a way he could have never known.

Long, spindly arms wrap around Karl’s shoulders, hands scrambling for purchase on his back. Karl digs his own fingers beneath Anders, until he has him cradled in his arms. Blue meets amber, like the ocean meeting the sunset in the horizon, eyes not leaving each other as they search each other’s souls.

Karl starts moving again, with reinvigorated purpose. It’s not long until Anders is wrapping his thighs around Karl’s waist, hooking his ankles behind his back to draw them close.

Lips find each other, licking into each other’s mouths and playfully biting and teasing. Their bodies stay pressed together as much as possible and their sweat intermingles anywhere there’s skin on skin. He can feel the muscles of Anders’ slim thighs moving and straining to keep hold around Karl’s waist, and his blunt nails scrape down his back, leaving red marks in their wake.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Anders says, just a breathy whisper in Karl’s ear. “Fuck, _right there._ Do it again.”

Karl adjusts his hips, trying to repeat what he had just unknowingly done. He thrusts forward, again and again, trying to hit the sweet spot deep inside that made Anders shiver. It takes a few times, but Karl finds a good rhythm that makes Anders swear and writhe on his cock.

Feeling heat and tingling tension coil deep below his stomach, Karl knows he’s close to climax. He presses a hungry kiss to Anders lips before setting back, focusing on driving them both to the edge. The pace of his thrusts quicken, reaching the border of gentle that he was striving for, and their hold on each other grows more desperate.

Anders comes first, tossing his head back against the blanket and arching the beautiful slender column of his neck, perfect for Karl to kiss and suck on. Anders claws at him, nails biting into Karl’s back as he rides out his orgasm. Come spurts from the reddened head of his cock, adding to the sweat that already glistens on their stomachs.

“ _Hng—gh, Karl,_ ” he moans, in a voice that Karl has never heard before and it drives him over the edge.

Instead of calling out Anders’ name that set itself on the tip of his tongue, Karl surges forward, sealing their lips together as he’s hit by his own orgasm. He sees stars when he closes his eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. He can feel Anders melt beneath him, giving way to Karl has he comes deep inside him. It’s the most incredible feeling, sharing this, sharing their bodies, filled with so much love and adoration.

They’re struck silent for a few long moments, chests heaving while catching their breath and recovering from what just happened. Karl carefully pulls his softening cock from Anders, who keens quietly at the loss. They’re both slick with oil, sweat, and come but neither of them mind. Not at this moment, anyway.

Karl crawls over and drops next to Anders, aligning their bodies so they’re face to face, legs tangled together on one edge of the blanket and flinging the other half over them. Their bodies are warm and their limbs loose, satiated and spent. Anders tilts his head, pressing remarkably chaste kisses on wherever he can reach on Karl’s face. 

“Love you,” he murmurs between lazy kisses.

Those words fuel the flames already burning in Karl’s heart, a fire that will never die as long as he has Anders by his side. “I love you, too.”

They stay like that, pressed together wrapped in the blanket, for several minutes, basking in each other’s company and their own bliss. No more words need to be exchanged, just the sound of Anders’ breathing and the warm softness of his skin on his is enough for Karl. He can still feel Anders’ magic radiating around them, keeping the air slightly warmer than it would be normally and keeping a few wisps alive to keep the area lit.

“So,” Karl begins, unable to keep himself from breaking the peaceful moment. When Anders looks over at him, Karl’s lips split into a grin. “... Where’s my nameday gift?”

Anders blinks, eyebrows raised in confusion for a fleeting moment. Tossing his head back, he bursts into laughter, a melodic hearty sound. He playfully punches Karl in the arm.

“You _arse!_ ”


	12. Chapter 12

It’s a lovely late-summer afternoon, almost a whole year passed since Anders first stumbled into their barn. The leaves have changed to dazzling shades of reds, yellows, and oranges before falling to the ground like fire dancing through the breeze. The air is blissfully cool, the usual heat wave having broken after what felt like a few weeks.

Karl’s day started out pleasantly, waking up next to Anders like he always has for the past year and kissing him awake. There was some time before the rest of the household woke and rose to do their morning chores, so they decided to take advantage of it. Warm beneath the blanket, they shimmied their smalls down their thighs and rolled their hips together lazily until they both came as quietly as they could.

Laying back against his pillow, shoulder to shoulder with Anders who also is recovering from a good morning orgasm, Karl thinks that things couldn’t get much better than this.

Until things get _much, much worse._

Just after the mid-day meal, Karl is helping clean dishes when there’s a knock at the door. All five of them freeze.

“Papa,” Aggie says quietly, rising just enough to peek through the window. “Three shiny men are here.”

Karl’s father’s eyes widen and his expression turns downright dangerous, quickly turning to face Karl and Anders. “ _Go!_ ” he orders in a hushed tone. “ _Get out of sight!_ ” 

“ _Where?_ ” Karl asks, keeping his voice quiet though he’s unable to hide the panic rushing through. It’s too late for them to sneak out the back door. With three ‘shiny men,’ trying to make it to the cellar was out of the question.

“ _The bedroom, now!_ ”

The two of them make it just in time, closing the door with a small click and leaning their weight on it. Both of their chests are heaving, but they strain to keep themselves from drawing breaths that are too loud. Karl turns his head to look at Anders, who spares him only a sideways glance before clenching his eyes shut.

They can hear everything on the other side of the door.

“There are no mages here, serah,” Father says with a composure unmatched by anyone facing down a group of templars.

“Don’t lie to us, it will only make things more difficult for you,” replies a templar, his voice sounding tinny from the inside of a helmet.

“I assure you, there are no mages here,” his father says again, his voice harder this time.

Karl turns to lean forward on the door, peeking through one of the splits in the wood to see the scene. His father stands in the center of the living area, closest to the door. His hands, though curled into fists, are thankfully empty of a weapon. It would be stupid to threaten a templar, but this is the closest they’ve ever gotten to being caught. Instead he rises to his full height, standing straight and squares up to the people intruding on his home.

“This is private property, and there are no mages here for you to chase, so I ask you to leave.”

Another templar steps forth, her sword drawn and clutched in her gauntleted hand. “As a fact, we happen to know there is an apostate here. One of your neighboring fellows said he saw magic one of the fields a few weeks ago.”

Karl holds back an audible gasp, looking at Anders who hasn’t yet opened his eyes since this began. Anders winces instead, his lips turning down in a deep frown and his expression changing from tense to anguish.

 _‘It’s not your fault,’_ Karl wants to say, wants to comfort Anders who is no doubt blaming himself, but swallows the words before turning his attention back to the slit in the door.

A templar has stepped forward, raising a sword and pointing it toward Aggie, who starts to cry. “Is it her?”

Mother snatches her daughter from the floor, clutching her tightly to her bosom as she scowls at the templars. “Don’t _dare_ threaten my child.”

“Then perhaps it’s you,” another templar says, closing in on both of them.

Karl’s heart is beating rapidly, the sound of blood rushing through his ears is almost deafening. His family is in danger and he can’t help them. Just how far will templars go to get what they want?

He doesn’t want to think about it, but his eyes stay glued to the scene.

“Then we’ll take you both in and get this sorted at the Tower… Unless...” one of the templars says, pushing the tip of his sword against the fabric of Father’s tunic. “—one of you wants to talk—”

Karl feels himself pushed out of the way, further back into the room. He stumbles, trying to catch his balance as silently as possible. His heart nearly stops when he sees Anders wrench the door open, bursting out of the room.

“It’s me,” Anders says, looking stone-faced at the templars. His chest is out, fists clenched at his sides as he stands defiantly, _valiantly_ while staring directly at the three templars. “I’m the apostate you’re looking for.”

The room is silent for a moment, and Karl watches from around the corner of the now open door. Father is standing in front of Mother, who still holds Aggie in her arms, but all their gazes are trained on Anders. His father looks intense, but over his shoulder, Karl can see that his mother is stricken with disbelieving fright.

The templars look at each other before turning back to Anders. “Are you the only one?”

“Yes.”

The Holy Smite hits Anders so hard that Karl can feel it rattle his bones, feeling his own mana unsettle in his veins. Anders’ body goes limp and drops to the floor, unconscious but otherwise visibly unharmed, but the sight of his lover lying lifeless makes panic rise in Karl’s chest…

And _unshakable anger._

The templars don’t stop there. Two of them close in, one grasping Karl’s father by the collar of his jacket while the other looms over his mother and sister.

“You have broken Chantry law by harboring an apostate for an unspecified amount of time,” the one grasping hold of his father declares. “There must be punishment for such conscious unlawful actions.”

Father flinches when the templar raises his metal-encased fist—

“ _NO!_ ” Karl shouts, kicking open the door and rushing into the room just as Anders had done before. He raises his arm, focusing everything on summoning purple bolts that burst forth from his hand and knocks one templar off their feet, the electrical energy resonating through the metal armor like a conduit. Chaos breaks loose, but only for a fleeting moment as he only manages a few more lightning bolts before they’re able to retaliate.

The smite is like nothing he’s ever felt before. It hits him head-on, an enormous amount of power rushing over his head and through his body as if it was made of nothing but air. His legs can’t hold him straight and he slams to the ground.

He doesn’t pass out like Anders did, still conscious but shaken, and he can hear his father shout.

“Well well,” says one of the templars, metal boots coming into Karl’s view. “There is another mage. Not anymore.”

The second smite hits as hard as the first, and the last thing Karl hears before blacking out is his mother sobbing, pleading with the templars not to take them.


	13. Chapter 13

Karl sits in a narrow dormitory bed. It’s quiet, but not as quiet as it had been on the farm. There are other apprentices around, chatting in low tones in the alcoves of the room and bustling through the halls on the way toward their lessons.

He itches his wrist where the scratchy wool cuff of his robes irritates his skin. He was immediately given an almost exact replica of what he and Anders burned that one night—a purple, fur-lined, quilted monstrosity.

Having only been at Kinloch Hold for three days and two nights, Karl hasn’t had a moment where he wasn’t on edge. He had panic attacks every night, not only about what his future holds but about Anders as well. His love remained unconscious during the entire journey to Lake Calenhad, and they had taken him away the moment the massive doors closed behind them.

Karl fears for the worst, constantly looking over his shoulder and expecting to see a glint of gold hair and a familiar face with a sunburst brand. A Senior Enchanter, a kind and gentle woman named Wynne, assured him that Anders wouldn’t be made tranquil, but he can’t stop the fear from terrorizing his thoughts.

Seeing Anders, without magic nor free will, would utterly break Karl.

On the fifth morning, Karl’s silent prayers to the Maker are answered. Karl looks up from his reading to see a new figure enter the dormitory, and the book falls from his lap when he jumps to his feet in disbelief.

Amber eyes flicker up, catching on Karl’s presence and blinking like he couldn’t believe it himself. He looks tired, ragged with dark circles beneath his eyes and walks in with a slight limp. Their gazes hold briefly, taking in the sight of each other before Anders’ expression crumples into tears.

“No… _No!_ ” Anders gasps, falling to his knees and shoving the heels of his palms to his eyes. Karl rushes to his side, holding the other mage steady by his shoulders but can’t get Anders to look at him. “You’re not supposed to be here. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Karl hushes him, pulling him in close and encircling him with his arms. Anders all but collapses against him, burying his face against the folds of Karl’s circle robes. His sobs are muffled, but Karl can still feel Anders shudder and shake.

“They were only supposed to take me,” Anders whispers, grasping hold of Karl like a lifeline. His fingers twist and tangle in his robes, pulling him closer. “You’re not meant to be here, not like I am. This is the last thing I wanted for you…”

He continues to cry, and Karl can feel tears prickling his eyes. He never wanted this either, but it had to be. He had his freedom, almost two decades of it. He had his time with a family who loved him, with a man who loved him.

He only wishes that Anders had just as much.

“We’ll be okay, Anders,” Karl says, trying to sound assuring but his shaky tone betrays his true fear. The tears start falling freely, tumbling down the crests of his cheeks as the hopelessness he’s been staving off comes crashing in like the waves on the shores of Lake Calenhad. “W-we have each other, love, we always will.”

Though Karl doesn’t know it yet…

… that was a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! This was a little closer to what I used to write back in the peak of my writing (2013), with lots of domestic fluff with dashes of angst. Also, more art on the way.
> 
>  **IMPLIED ABUSE/NONCON:** A discussion with Anders (in chapter 6) alludes to templars abusing mages and himself, and while noncon is not specifically mentioned, it’s implied.  
>  **AGES:** As for their ages, it’s not specific to a year, but I’ve written them to be in their late teens since this is one of Anders’ escape attempts. They can be whatever you need them to be.


End file.
